


Mother of One

by bittersweetlapse



Series: Broken and Fixed [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adoption, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, KarNep - Freeform, NepKat, Petstuck, bittersweetLapse, katnep - Freeform, yes i'm continuing this, yes it will get cuter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetlapse/pseuds/bittersweetlapse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat Vantas, at the behest of his older brother Kankri, decides to adopt a pet in an attempt to get over his dislike of animals. But after he ends up with a young troll named Nepeta, the time they spend together brings back memories he'd rather forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coerced

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unwanted Free Ugly Troll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/477092) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> I did not come up with the idea of trolls as pets--this credit goes to the lovely coldhope! Thank you for writing such a great piece!
> 
> Cover art by [new-story-arc.tumblr.com](new-story-arc.tumblr.com)

No one would shut up about it, so you, Karkat Vantas, are getting a pet.

You don’t really see the point in having one, anyway. Dogs require constant care; cats completely ignore you most of the time and act like they own the place. Birds are loud, and reptiles…you suppress a shudder as you remember the disgusting insects–live!–that you had to feed a pal’s bearded dragon or something a while back. No, animals in general are not really your forte.

But, your older brother Kankri had argued, that’s why you should get one. You, of all people, would understand empathy and loneliness, considering you’ve lived the past few years almost completely in cavelike solitude. And it was better to forget the past and move on.

It had been one massive clusterfuck of a guilt trip--so that’s why you’re riding in your friend’s beat-up pickup truck of questionable age and capability.

Sollux turns around from the driver’s seat, his psychedelic glasses glinting in the review mirror. He’s a month older and a foot taller than you, and he’ll never let you forget that you still haven’t gotten a license, even though you’re a few years past the required age. But even if you had a car/license, you’d prefer sitting in the filthy front seat graffitied with Sharpied obscenities and tiny rips, the broken seat belt barely covering you, listening to shitty K-pop and grunge blaring out of the sticky windows, to one of your own belonging. Quite honestly, your parents would fall over their feet to get you the most expensive car they can find, and you can’t let that happen.

“So, the Vantas has fallen,” Sollux says smugly, grinning insultingly at you with his yellowed, slightly pointed teeth. You’ve always wondered if they’re the cause of his weird lisp, or if it was just his messed-up Asian family’s ancestry. Either way, you two like to laugh about the “evil in his ancestors” that caused the strange dental abnormality. His giant family is as laughable and as stereotypical as it gets.

You snort. “Shut up. It’s not like I’m becoming the savior of the animal kingdom or anything.”

Sollux shrugs, the black hair slipping over his eyes. “I dunno, man. It’s not like I have to drive you.” His pallid hand reaches up to swipe it away. “I’d say we have a regular Lion King here! Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh-tekembaaaaaaaa—“ His singing voice is whiny and incredibly irritating, made dumber by his mockery of the African song. 

Growling, you flip him off. “Dipshit.” He flips you the finger in return, and you share a grin.

Soon, you’re at the adoption center. Sollux parks the behemoth and says “I’ll wait here while you pick out the thing n’shit. Don’t take all day, I got games to play.” He pulls out a PSP and idly presses a few buttons as you step out of the car.

You nod and look up at the building. It’s a generic pet store, Harley’s Emporium, a neon sign tells you, that looks spacious enough. You reach over to open the door and almost fall inside as the door is pulled open energetically to greet you by a perky girl.

“Hey there! Watch your step!” she says, giggling. Her skin is cocoa brown and perfectly round spectacles perch on her nose. Her head is surrounded by cascades of lustrous black hair down to her back. She’s quite pretty, and you feel a self-conscious blush spread to your cheeks as you run a hand through your messy ginger hair. How long has it been since you last brushed it?

“Uh, hi,” you stammer. “I’m looking for a–”

“No worries! We have every pet under the sun!” the girl interrupts cheerily. “If you’re not sure, I’d recommend a dog. Say hello to Bequerel!”

At her words, a massive white dog with thick, fluffy white hair covering his eyes emerges from under the table. You tentatively pat his head, but his slight growling does nothing to make you feel any better.

“Umm…where are the cats?”

*****

A few minutes later, you’ve decided on a cat. You picked the first one you saw, a fat white Persian with seemingly double chins, and you’ve been directed to everything you need to take care of it. You’re about ready to check out when you hear a strange, unfamiliar squeak.

Jade, the girl at the door (you were staring at her name tag) whips her head around. “Oh! Honey, what are you doing out?”

You turn around as well, but you’re a little shocked at what you see. A small, gray, vaguely humanoid thing is peeking its head around from behind the door. Standing on two legs, it has short black hair and is wearing a tiny shirt that hangs from its body limply, but the human resemblance stops at its silvery gray skin and strange orange horns that poke out from its skull. It retracts its little clawed hands from the doorframe and shrinks back when it sees you staring.

You recognize it instantly. Of course–how could you not? It’s a troll, a few years old pet sensation that have recently become extremely popular among the rich and famous. They act like humans, eating their food and even talking. They’re fairly rare, though, and an undetermined amount have been released for general consumption. You mean sale.

Jade coos as the troll recoils back from your stupefied stare. “Nepeta, sweetie, it’s okay. This is a friend!” She goes over to the tiny troll and lifts it up, its stubby legs dangling. From the looks of the long eyelashes and slender frame, it’s a female.

“What’s your name?” she asks you in a slight undertone as she snuggles the troll, Nepeta or whatever her name was, into her arms. The creature still stares at you from her grasp.

“Vantas. Karkat Vantas,” you blurt, a little flustered by Nepeta’s unwavering gaze.

Jade smiles sweetly. “Nepeta, meet Mr. Karkat!” She emphasizes the unfortunate ending of your dumb name like everyone does, presumably to make the little troll smile. “Isn’t that a fun name?” 

Before you can react, she’s gently but firmly pulled open your arms and deposited the petite troll into your grasp. You buckle a bit at the sudden minute weight.

She’s warm. The creature snuggles comfortably into your grasp and stares at you. Her eyes are huge, green with slitted black pupils, with yellow where there’s normally white on a human. They’re familiar. Too familiar.

Oh god.

You feel a sudden weight drop into your stomach. No. You cannot buy a troll. Absolutely not. On the list of things you promised yourself you’d never do, this was at the very top.

Nepeta seems to sense your discomfort. Her hands are clawed with little yellow nails, and she reaches up to your face and bats your cheek gently.

“Cat?”

A small, nasal voice bites the air of the quiet store. Jade’s hands flit up to clasp her cheeks, her mouth frozen in a silent squeal.

You bite your cheek painfully, doing your best to resist the troll’s ridiculous cuteness, not meeting her eyes. “Sorry, but I can’t…buy her…” you mutter, trying to shove her–it–back into Jade’s hands, onto the table, anywhere but your arms, because the warmth is triggering memories that you’d rather keep down…

Jade frowns. “B-but,” she says, “Nep’s been in here for ages and–”

You cut her off, not willing to hear what is probably a perfectly valid argument that would more than likely convince you. “I…can’t afford it,” you say desperately, although this is a blatant lie, and you have a feeling that Jade’s darting eyes spot the designer tag on your oversized black sweater.

The girl’s mouth puckers. “If money is really a problem, I can give her to you for less. Honestly!” She moves closer to you, and in an undertone, she hisses, “She’s slated for culling in just a few days. Nobody wants her, on account of her being just a greenblood. She’s our last one.”

Your stomach drops even deeper. Trolls’ worth is measured by their blood, something called the hemospectrum you think, and the higher their blood is on that scale, the more they’ll sell for. The lower trolls tend to be more animal-like and less domesticated, and for that reason less popular. A greenblood like Nepeta wouldn’t have been very likely to sell. You wonder how many of her kind this young one has seen bought by various people, carried away to either their fortune or doom…

Fuck.

“How much?” you relent weakly.

Jade, looking very relieved, states a price that is high, too high, but you accept it anyway. You also fork over a bit more for a cat bed and some food manufactured by the omnipresent Betty Crocker company. However, you have trouble carrying the supplies as Nepeta is still curled in your arms and refuses to move. Jade, with a really adorable smile, hands you a box, which you put the now sleeping troll in as gently as possible.

“Thanks for all your help–” you start to tell her, but she just puts a finger to her lips and waves.

You awkwardly shoulder the cat bed, balancing the food under your other arm, and hold out the box in front of you. You’re trying your hardest not to jostle it, but Nepeta wakes up anyway and whimpers. You do your best to ignore it, but by the time you’ve trudged over to Sollux’s car, she’s full-out crying, a pathetic wailing similar to a cat mewling. Glossy greenish tears track down her cheeks.

Sollux sticks his head out the window irritably. “Goddammit, KK, what the hell did you buy?” His words fill you with more guilt than perhaps should be merited from the situation.

“A…a troll,” you say hesitantly, defensively. You seat yourself in the front and carefully pick up the bawling Nepeta. You stroke her hair and horns softly, murmuring. “Shoosh, it’s ok.” You vaguely remember your mother doing the same thing to you—whispering soothing words, “shooshing” you with short, gentle pats, when you were a toddler. Taking care of kids, no matter the species, is universal, apparently.

Almost immediately, she stops crying and shivers as you gently pat her. Maybe the horns are sensitive. You hope it’s nothing insidious, and that it’s simply akin to something like tickling.

Sollux snickers, but it’s not mean so much as in disbelief. “I can’t believe you. Karkat Vantas, mother of one.” 

You ignore him and continue petting Nepeta, who’s now purring like a motorboat. She’s only a foot or two tall, the right size to sit on your knee. She looks about the equivalent of, say, two or three years old, and you wonder, probably not for the last time, how on earth you got coerced into adopting a toddler, essentially. 

Sollux hesitantly reaches out his hand and runs his fingers through Nepeta’s hair. She doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, purring just the same. You let out a soft sigh of relief. The last thing you need is for this seemingly adorable troll to hate everyone it meets.

Sollux reaches up to slap you jovially on the shoulder, probably with some ridiculous remark. But unexpectedly, the troll bolts upright and sinks her tiny little fangs into his finger. You remember, too late, that certain species of trolls carry venom in their fangs. All you can do is hope that Nepeta isn’t one of them–and suppress a laugh, because Sollux’s dumbfounded expression is priceless.

Sollux yelps and jumps back, making the car rattle. You think you hear something crack. Hopefully it’s not vital.

“Jesus Christ!” he swears. “Little beast!” He glares at Nepeta, his thin eyes squinted in anger and pain behind his multicolored shades.

Nepeta stands up, staring at him unshrinkingly.

"My Kat," she says, her little voice full of righteousness. 

You mentally curse yourself. What have you gotten into?


	2. Protector

Sollux is whining so much about the bite that he insists on stopping at his “significant other’s” house for a bandaid. You’re completely pissed off because he absolutely refuses to drive any more, leaving you to walk to your fucking apartment holding a cardboard box with an infatuated troll, a cat bed and several metal cans that hurt quite a lot when you drop them on your toe.

Still, your place isn’t too far, and after an agonized shout, a trail of claw marks from your neck up as Nepeta decided to climb up onto your head, and fifteen minutes later, you’ve arrived at the high-rise section of town. Awkwardly carrying your things and trying to pretend you don’t have a young troll on your head, you make your way inside and into the elevator (which is mercifully empty).

As you ascend the floors, you suddenly realize that you don’t have your landlord’s permission to own a troll. You slap yourself in the forehead in wonder of your complete stupidity.

He’s going to fucking kill you.

Your landlord is an asshole, to say the least. He’s a snob and hates it when you get any sort of mess on the furniture, even though you’re the one paying for the place. You don’t even want to think how he’ll react if he finds out you bought one of the most high-maintenance pets on the planet.

You’ve considered telling him in the past who your parents are, but you always decide in the end that the trouble it would stir up definitely isn’t worth it. 

Nepeta squeaks and whimpers, “No, Kat!” as she digs her tiny claws deeper into your forehead, rocking slightly back from the impact of your palm. You yelp in pain and pull the girl off your skull. She giggles as you hold her at arm’s length and glare. 

“Listen. Climbing on my head is BAD!” You dab at the red blood oozing from your skin and thrust your finger in her face. “Blood...bad!”

Nepeta, however, doesn’t look fazed. Rather, she puts her mouth up to the blood and proceeds to lick it off your finger in apparent relish as you watch in horror. Her tongue is scratchy and rough like sandpaper, like a cat’s, but black as her hair.

“Nepeta, what the hell?!” you screech, alternately disgusted and worried. The elevator dings and a young couple walks in. They look confused and draw back as you walk out the door, muttering oaths under your breath. You flash them a quick, apologetic smile as the elevator closes on their staring faces.

After the short walk to your room, you unlock the door and exhaustedly put everything down. Nepeta lets out a squeak of happiness and begins to run around the room. Bolting upright from your fifth of a second of respite, you stop her seconds before she claws her way up the kitchen table and scoop her up under her arms. “No...stop that!”

She giggles and says, “Kat! Let’s play!”

You rub your forehead. “No, Nepeta...we can’t play right now. I...” The words melt off your tongue at her absolutely heartbroken expression. Her virescent eyes meet yours with a pure, “holy-fucking-shit-the-cuteness” look.

“Dammit!” you swear out loud. “I can’t do this.” You put the troll down and swat a few drops of blood off your brow. You just got home and you’re already realizing that this task is completely impossible. With your social skills, you’ll be having Nepeta swearing like a sailor and screaming at everyone she meets in a week, tops. 

How do people take care of these? They’re like children! You’ve had her at home for approximately a minute, and you’re already seriously regretting your split-second guilty decision. You weight how terrible you’ll feel if you take her back. 

Nepeta seems to have grown bored with you. She goes to the couch and attempts to jump up onto it, but only being two feet tall does have its disadvantages. She misses, falls, and hits her head on the wood floor. Immediately, a shriek of pain permeates the air.

Your heart jumps and speeds up twofold as the wail sets your alarm mode _on._ You run over to her and a chill runs down your spine as you see her little body crumpled on the floor. Is it just your imagination, or do you see a spot or two of green blood dot the floor near her head...? 

_Oh god. Oh god no._

“Nepeta!” Your voice has gone up an octave and you can feel your hands shaking. You gently pick up the body with a sick feeling. The only thing going through your mind is _Fuck...please be alright...oh fuck fuck fuck..._

As you gently pull the hair back from her brow, the troll’s little head pops up and she’s grinning as she squeaks, “Hee hee! Gotcha!”

Relief floods your body, but you are anything but happy.

“Nepeta,” you snap, plunking the troll girl on the couch with a not-so-tender thunk. “Never, ever do that again. You hear me? NEVER!” Your voice has risen to a shout and you’re aware of her cowering from your rage, but your vision is nothing but a mental image of that frail body bleeding olive all over the wood tiling...

Nepeta whimpers. “Sorry. Me sorry!” Greenish tears begin to spill down her cheeks. Her voice rises to a yowl. “No do again!” 

You instantly feel badly for speaking too harshly. Your sinuses itch in that way that means you’re going to cry. Gruffly, you swipe your dampening eyes and growl. “It’s fine.” 

But Nepeta is still quivering at your outburst, huddled on the farthest corner of the couch. Her thin pupils have dilated and she’s shaking like a leaf.  
You sit next to her on the plush ebony couch. You tentatively reach a hand out to her, but the troll girl is still staring at you like she can’t believe you’re not going to hurt her.

“Nepeta, honey,” you make your voice low and crooning, “it’s all right. No more shouting.” As you hold out your hand, she very slowly puts her paw on top of it. It’s tiny, smaller than your palm, and the grey, fur-like skin is sweaty. 

Nepeta timidly creeps over to you and huddles against your knee. You ruffle her hair a bit, gently, and trace your fingers over the outline of her horns.

"I will never ever let anyone hurt you," you whisper. And as you say it, you realize you mean it. 

*****

After the little spat, Nepeta’s eyelids start to flutter, and it isn’t long before she’s curled in your lap, fast asleep. Her little chest gently pulses up and down as she breathes. You tuck her into the cat bed underneath the blanket you bought. It’s pastel blue and embroidered with little pawprints, soft as a cheap, cotton, machine-sewn blanket can be. 

Taking the opportunity, you creep over to your laptop and google search “trolls”, although it’s kind of unnecessary, as you used to know quite a bit about them when they were all the rage. A closer personal friend of yours had one for a time...

You decide not to peruse that portion of your memory. 

However, you do learn some new things about trolls. Recent troll-rights movements have caused people to start looking at them as more human than animal. You learn that they are mainly omnivorous and can function as well on human food as canned Betty Crocker shit, that when they grow older they can be the size of a human, and that they enjoy speech and learning human skills such as reading and writing. 

You glance over at the sleeping Nepeta. She’s curled up in little ball, thumb in her mouth like a toddler. Holy _shit_ that’s cute.

How can people abandon these creatures? They're _sentient._ Nepeta's young for her kind, and she already has a basic grasp of the English language. How smart will she be when she gets older? When will she stop needing you? How human will she be? 

Frankly, you don’t want to think about these things right now. After your momentary flare-up of fear, your regret and anger over buying a troll and worrying about your landlord have vanished. Nepeta is a frail creature that needs your care, and you are more than willing to give it to her.

You’re determined not to make the same mistake twice.


	3. The Care and Feeding of Your Young Troll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took so long to write! but now most of my tests are over, so i can concentrate on writing. uwu enjoy!

By the time you’re done wading through article after article about caring for trolls, troll mistreatment, adoption centers, and shady ads telling you to Buy A Troll For Cheap Today--Find Everything Troll, etc, etc, Nepeta is awake and yowling. “Food, Kat! Food!”

You hastily hurry over to her and put your hand over her mouth. _If the neighbors hear…_

“Shoosh, no screaming,” you say anxiously, calm as you can muster. “Let’s get you lunch, huh?” Walking over to the cabinet, you pull out one of the cans of Betty Crocker troll food and yank it open. You’ve never been big on the cooking company, but if the food’s sold for trolls, you’re not going to be the one who decides to give Nepeta chocolate and— _oh, no, my troll’s dropped dead of cardiac arrest!_  
Dumping the glop into a bowl— _god, that shit smells disgusting_ ¬—you take it over and put it on the floor, shoving some god-knows-what debris out of the way with your foot. Cleaning, on your priority list, is right next to homework and brushing your scruffy ginger mop of hair. “Carrot Top”, your nickname was back in high school. God. You never think about that crazy group any more. That was where you met Sollux and—

You painfully swallow the harsh lump in your throat. Better not to think about the past. Especially now that it’s relevant.

It hits you that while you’ve been uneasily reminiscing, Nepeta has been pigging out on the troll chow, eating with her mouth, hardly utilizing her skinny arms. It doesn’t take long for a ring of uneasiness to set in. 

Nepeta isn’t an animal. She’s a troll. And you can already tell that she’s very, very human.

Picking up the half-eaten bowl of food, you take it over to the table and set out a spoon and a napkin. Nepeta looks at you piteously as her lunch floats away from her gaping mouth.

“Kat, where food?”

Her eyes are impossibly wide, her mouth a petite U, like so many retarded cat pictures on the internet that were all the rage in fifth grade.

“Come on, Nep,” you tell her. It’s hard to keep your voice paternal when she’s giving you such a pathetic look. Her wide eyes seem to be profoundly affecting your frontal lobe, making your tongue glue to the roof of your mouth. “We’re going to eat at the table.” 

“Why? I like floor!”

“You’re too smart for this,” you respond. You don’t really expect her to understand, but the troll seems to be pleased with the compliment, and scrambles over to the table happily. Her little legs seem to have trouble moving in tandem, like she’s still absorbing the muscle memory. She has momentary trouble getting up the chair, what with her little stubby limbs, so you pick her up by the arms and lift her, making her giggle. It’s a clear noise with the most endearing wobble to it, like the sound wave hesitated coming out of her mouth. 

You pull up a chair and sit down next to the troll, hastily grabbing a stack of napkins from the table. You have a feeling that they’ll be quite necessary in a short amount of time.  
Noticing Nep’s tiny little head barely reaches the table, now you have to fetch a pillow and have her sit on it. Nepeta doesn’t really comply, instead electing to rub her food-smeared lips all over the pillow and get her teeth stuck in it. By the time you internally curse— _fuck, that was a matching pillow to the couch, landlord’s not gonna be happy—_ feathers are flying everywhere. 

She’s holding the spoon the wrong way until you gently turn it around in her hand. She takes the napkin and, food all over her mouth, starts tearing it into shreds. More mess! You are going to have to actually clean your place once meal time is over. 

You can’t believe the similarities. For her grey skin, Nepeta is just a kid, just a little toddler with stubby, sharp cat horns. You knew trolls were humanoid, but not like…like this. 

“No, no, the napkin is for wiping your mouth!” 

You pick up another one and swipe Nepeta’s mouth for her, since you don’t think she understands. The consistency of the food is one hundred percent foul, and the smell’s a mix of dog food and meat tenderizer. Then you have to run over to her and turn the spoon around before she starts stabbing the mush with it. Violent tendencies, huh. The last thing you need is another little monster in the house. 

After a few more minutes, Nepeta finally seems to get the point. She’s holding the spoon like an axe, her little grey hand clamped tightly into a fist, but she’s not putting the food in her hair, at any rate.

Meal time’s over a minute later, after every speck of food from the bowl has disappeared into her maw, she’s already jumped off the chair and landed like a tiny ninja, hands neatly tucked next to her knees. And guess who gets to clean up the mess of feathers, troll mush, shredded napkin fragments? You, that’s who. Because you’ve lost control of your life. 

“Nepeta!” 

She stops dead in her tracks and turns around, beaming. “Kat!” 

“What do you say after you eat?” This is probably a dumb question. But hey. Who knows what sort of manners she had picked up from the pet store?

“More!” She’s got a mischievous little grin on her face, the little smartass. She knows that isn’t the right answer.

“You say thank you, Nepeta.” You try to make your voice stern, but it’s hard not to smile. “Say it for me.”

“Fank you Kat!” 

Good enough. She scampers off and you tiredly put everything into the sink. Damn. Had you bought a litter box? You too late realize there’s going to be troll shit all over the floor now. And after the mess Nepeta’s made, she needs a bath.

It’s not hard to find where Nepeta’s gone, as your floor is now speckled with tiny, filthy footprints that trace the culprit to your room, where she’s trying—and failing—to jump onto your bed. She’s clawing her way up the bedsheets, unsuccessfully you might add. The covers are pouring off the bed in a waterfall of old socks, what looks like a spare Nicholas Cage poster from your wall (what the hell, how did that get there) and bedspreads.

Your vision blurs for a minute as Nepeta’s grubby hands clutch at your baby blanket, her untrimmed claws adding to the multitude of holes. 

“Nepeta!” you howl. The troll girl looks around and falls down. A mound of sheets catches her, and she giggles. “Soft!”

You march over and pick her up by the overlarge collar of her shirt, but it’s far too large to hold her petite frame and she wiggles out of it, her grey skin exposed completely now, wearing nothing but a big-ass pair of your socks. She titters and scampers away up onto your nightstand, but you aren’t putting up with this. 

“Get away from the bed!” you snap. Before the troll girl has time to turn around and look surprised at your sharp tone, you’ve scooped her up just in time as her foot knocks over the heavy glass lamp balancing precariously on your nightstand. 

The glass shatters, landing precisely where Nepeta had been seconds before. 

Nepeta stares at the shards of crystal, eyes wide as two moons. You pant slightly, shuddering to think what would have happened if she had been standing there. Concussion? Likely. Or worse. 

“Nepeta, you have to be more careful,” you say softly, slowly. “You could get hurt.” 

The troll girl grins at you, black gums filled with pointed teeth. 

“Ok!”  
As you’re staring at her, it occurs to you that…oh. Um. 

Her shirt’s gone. Right.

It’s the equivalent of holding a naked three-year old, but that doesn’t make it any less awkward. Nepeta doesn’t seem to feel uncomfortable, but of course she wouldn’t, it’s her own skin and anyway, she’s too young to understand why going commando is unsafe. 

You can feel your cheeks heating up as you mutter uncomfortably something along the lines of “Uhh.” 

Nepeta registers that you’re still holding her shirt. “Is it bath time?”

“Sure,” you agree hastily. “Yeah. Bath time.” You want to put her down as soon as humanly possible, but of course you have to carry her out of the room with glass shards scattered all over the floor. 

Bath time is little more than you trying to swallow your embarrassment as Nepeta giggles and splashes around in a foot of warm, soapy water. From the amount of grey water that comes off of her, you’re not sure if she’s ever had a bath before. She tries to eat the sponge at first, but a little gentle guidance—“No, that’s for scrubbing”—puts her voracious appetite quest to an end. Her hair is matted and messy—you’re guessing it had previously been far longer before the pet store hacked it off with what you assume to be a blunt chainsaw, or a doorstop. You wonder what kind of care she got at the pet store, but decide that since someone like Jade was employed there, it couldn’t have been too horrible. Right?

The shampoo/conditioner combo is herbal and was recommended by your fashion designer friend, so it’s extremely feminine in its scent of “wild peach blossom with extracts of passionfruit”. Huh. Maybe that’s why people have been giving you curious looks as you passed by them on the street? How low you’ve sunk to stop caring about your outer appearance almost entirely, focusing instead on your crummy job as a computer company’s over-the-phone receptionist. It’s fun to talk to people, but most of your clients are so bitchy you end up yelling at them loudly and with a large quantity of swearing. Your job’s on the line and so is your food and rent, so you’ve been doing your best to hold your admittedly short temperature. 

Whatever. You don’t care about your shitty job. It’s just a nice feeling to rub the shampoo into Nepeta’s messy hair, watching her put bubbles on her face like a beard and pretending to be someone she calls “’Glish!” She insists you try, so you lather some bubbles into your hand and give yourself a luscious moustache. Her pearly grin and shrill laughter make you almost as amused as she is. 

*****

After you dry Nepeta with a threadbare towel (you fervently hope it wasn’t the one you used earlier today, but you’re not sure, all the towels are the same shade of dingy pink), she’s yawning widely, her black tongue sweeping her teeth for any last morsel of food. 

“Sleep?” she questions. 

“Uh, yeah. Lemme just…get you some pj’s.” You run into your room and find the smallest shirt you can, since her original one is covered in Betty Crocker glop and needs a sound wash. It’s still massive on the girl though, the faded logo of some expensive fashion label draping down to her legs. By the time you help her step through it, she’s falling asleep standing up. The craziness of the day was too much for a growing troll girl, you suppose, even though it’s only 7:00 and still light out. 

The sun’s setting as Nepeta drearily follows you into the living room. You were planning on watching a movie, maybe one with Will Smith or something that could be considered appropriate for a toddler, but as you’re walking over to the television, you hear a small thunk. 

Nepeta has collapsed on the floor, too tired to make it to the couch.

You smile slightly, bend down, and pick up the troll girl. She doesn’t stir as you carry her over to the couch and tuck a blanket around her. You’re not sure where you were originally planning to have her sleep, but her warm, frail body fits so securely in your lap you decide to let her stay there.


	4. Mom's Here

Once it dials, you hold the phone up to your ear, a little anxious. She’s always very direct, and frankly, it’s a bit intimidating.

You had woken up feeling stiff, and it took you a moment to realize that you had fallen asleep sitting up. Nepeta was still fast asleep in your lap, making soft snuffle-snore noises as her chest rose and fell. Checking your smartphone for the date and time was a rude awakening–it’s a Sunday, 10:00 am, so you’re off work–but you know from bitter experience that the day will go by faster than you think.

The receiver rings once. Twice. She’s the closest thing you have to a girlfriend, but older sister would be a slightly more accurate way to describe your relationship. Calling her isn’t exactly a gamble—she’ll be able to help you–but her manner can be a bit…smothering.

“Karkat! Darling, hello! It’s been a while. Are you quite well?”

You’ve never been sure if the affected British accent is real or if she adopted it to make a point, but it works with her image. Kanaya Maryam is a fashion designer growing in fame, but she’s always made time for anything you needed: saving you from missed deadlines, listening to you as you rant and offering sound advice, or rescuing an overload of dirty laundry.

“Uh, yeah, I’m okay.” Fervently glancing around the apartment, you lower your voice. “Listen, I have…uh…a problem. Kind of a big one.”  
There’s a worried pause at the other end, “What is it?”

You gulp. Here comes the tough part. “Well, I kind of…adopted a troll.”

Kanaya lets out a gasp as sharp as glass, and her voice crescendos. “Karkat Vantas! Why on earth—“

Her reprimand instinctively makes you wince, and you pull the phone away from your ear. “I can explain later! Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.” Fervently throwing a sideways look at the drowsing Nepeta, your pacing distracts you slightly.

When Kanaya speaks again, it’s in a shocked whisper. “Karkat, I don’t understand. You said you would never adopt another one, not after what happened to poor little—“

“The circumstances were…irregular.” You swallow the harsh lump in your throat, interposing quickly. “Nepeta was going to be culled, okay? I couldn’t live with that.”

Kanaya makes a “tut-tut” sound on the other line, and doesn’t reply.

“Will you come?” you plead, practically on your knees. “I need help. I can’t find any clothes for her, and my landlord doesn’t know she’s here. And I can’t keep her inside forever.” For whatever reason, trolls are banned in your neighborhood stores (thereby eliminating any chance of you going to a Gap to pick up some kiddie stuff), and there’s no way in hell you’re going to leave Nepeta in the apartment alone.

There’s a sigh on the other end. “Karkat Vantas, you need to learn to pull yourself out of these messes.” Your stomach starts to squirm, but Kanaya isn’t done. “I’m working as well. I can’t afford to just go gallivanting off whenever I desire!”

Your throat has turned to lead. Kanaya was your absolute last hope. Without her, you’re probably screwed.

There’s a long pause.

“Of course I’ll come, dear. I wouldn’t leave you to flounder by yourself.” Kanaya’s voice has turned warm and caring. You’re so relieved. You wish she wouldn’t scare you like that, but then again, she always seems to enjoy making a bit of a fuss.

“I’ll be right over. Do you still live in that messy apartment of yours?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Yes, of course you do. Just wait--I have just the thing for a young troll. All right, that’s perfect! Thank you kindly, Karkat darling. Ta-ta for now!” Rather abruptly, Kanaya hangs up, leaving you wondering exactly what she’s planning, and debating if this was the best idea.

You shake off the clinging sour thoughts and try to smile. Nepeta’s stirring, yawning adorably, small white fangs glinting in the morning sun streaming in through your window. When her bleary eyes focus on you, she squints, her mouth curving into a cat-like grin.

“Hi Kat!”

“Good morning, Nep.” You smile back at her. “We have a visitor coming later today. Her name’s Kanaya. She’s my good friend, and she’s gonna help us out."

“Friend—good!” She’s scrambling to hop up onto your knees, luring a smile out of you as you run your hand through her fluffy, clean black locks.

One of my only friends at this point.

*****  
Kanaya’s speedy—for all the fuss she’d made, you’d have thought she lived on the other side of the fucking country. But no, her puny SmartCar is only thirty or so minutes coming, and she rings the buzzer just as you’re finishing up washing the dishes from last night.

“Karkat, darling, would you be so kind as to let me in? I’ve got something for your dear little…friend.”

“’Course.” You’re little offended that she would even think that you wouldn’t let her in. You press the button that unlocks the apartment gate and soon the elevator’s whooshing up into the lobby. Damn, you’re lucky to live in a fancy-fucking-shmancy apartment like this. Where would you be without the endless resources of your rich-ass, spoiling parents?

“Hello dear!” Kanaya walks towards you with dark arms open wide, and you’re reluctantly squeezed into a bone-crushing hug. She’s dressed simply today, in a red maxi skirt, raven three-quarter top, and a violet sash wrapped tightly around her waist, trailing on the floor behind her. Strike that about Kanaya being like your girlfriend, or even remotely like an older sister: She’s more like a surrogate mom.

“How’ve you been?” she inquires eagerly, after kissing the air around both your shoulders. Her heavily made up eyes beg for details, depths whispering of understanding and sincerity. “You were loathe to give details over the phone, so it seems.”

You start to tell her about your job and shitty college and everything that had happened up until you had bought Nepeta—but then the troll in question shyly peeks out from behind the door, just like she had when you first met her. Turning around, smiling uncomfortably, you scoop up Nepeta in your arms. She dangles in your grasp, staring at Kanaya curiously like a little wide-eyed owl, not like the alien that she is. Kanaya gazes back, looking shocked.

“So you really did adopt another troll,” she says in a hushed voice. “I can’t believe it…I thought you swore you would never take on another one.”

“Well…”

Unfortunately, you don’t have a good answer. Why did you adopt Nepeta? Was it because Jade guilt-tripped you by informing you the troll was slated to be culled? Or was it because secretly, you had never really forgotten the sensation of hearing a raspy little voice giggling while small, sharp elbows and knees poked you playfully, no matter how hard you tried to force it out of your head?

A spike of pain shoots through your head, and you bend slightly over, putting your fingers to your temples. Kanaya notices the change in you and glances concernedly over. “Darling?”

“I’m…I’m fine,” you choke out. “Just…” Guilt, for the millionth time, washes over you.

If I had just paid more attention, hadn’t just abandoned the situation…

Kanaya pats your shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Karkat.”

Nepeta, noticing your sadness, reaches up to you and bats your cheek. “Kat, don’t cry!” Her fingernails tickle, not scratch, and your lips curve upward. Shit. At this rate, you’ll be a huge fucking softy for little kids and fluffy bunny pictures.

Kanaya smiles warmly at the two of you, then brings her focus back to the troll girl. “Love, your name’s Nepeta, right?” Her heavily styled short ebony hair bobs slightly as she twists her head.

Nepeta turns around and nods, eyes wide. She seems to be in awe of this new presence, smelling of musky perfume and coconut oil, looming over you by a good foot, and it’s rendering her temporarily silent.

“Well, I have something for you, dear.” Kanaya’s voice is thick with sugar and honey as she pulls out something from her bag. It’s a fuzzy blue hat with holes for horns, with two white buttons for eyes and a little cream nose, obviously representing a cat.

Nepeta’s eyes go gigantic. “Kitty!” she breathes in an awed whisper, stretching her arms out like Gatsby on the dock.

“It’s for you,” Kanaya says, affectionately amused. To you, she adds in an undertone, “Trolls as pets have been getting more and more popular lately. This is from my newest fashion line.”

Oh, thank god. This is just what you were hoping for. This doesn’t solve Nepeta’s regular clothing problem, though. As the troll girl wondrously takes the hat and struggles with getting it on, you ask Kanaya if she has any other troll-sized clothes that you could, err, purchase for maybe an, umm, cheaper price. Friend’s bargain?

Kanaya laughs and tells you that for you, it’s free. Which, frankly, is what you knew she would say.

“In fact,” Kanaya informs you matter-of-factly, “I’d be pleased to make some clothes for this absolute flower.”

Nepeta looks up, the hat wedged halfway over her left eye like a pirate. “Clothes? Me like clothes!”

Kanaya laughs and ruffles the troll girl’s hair. “And maybe you should consider enrolling her in school? That grammar is, quite frankly, atrocious.”

“School?” Your head swims. You had never considered the matter. Were there even troll schools? You’re almost one hundred percent sure you’d never be able to afford that--not without your parents’ help, which you won’t be able to receive without telling them that you have a troll now, which only a chucklefuck would think is a good idea. “Isn’t that normal? I mean, she’s still a toddler—“

Nepeta looks a bit downcast at Kanaya’s words. “Gramm-ar?” She hesitates, sounding the word out, squeezing her eyes shut in thought. Then she grins, slowly speaking: “I…like…clothes!”

As your mouth drops open, she beams. “Is this…better?”

You gape at Nepeta’s extraordinary grasp of language. She picked up correct sentence structure in the time it took a toddler to learn what the hell “grammar” meant. How did she even understand that? No wonder people made such a fucking fuss about the intelligence of trolls.

That’s…well, amazing.

Kanaya claps--“Well done! Yes, duck, that’s much better”-- and bends down so she’s at Nepeta’s level. Per usual, keeping a stiff upper lip, she doesn’t seem at all fazed by Nepeta’s extraordinary talent. “Can I measure you so we can get those clothes you wanted?” 

“Yes!” Nepeta squeaks and eagerly runs over to Kanaya, giggling.

“At this rate she’s going to want to go home with you,” you say a bit enviously  
.  
Kanaya chuckles quietly to herself as she pulls the roll of measuring tape out of her purse, winding it absentmindedly around her wrist. “Perhaps that would be better for the both of us.” You bristle, but she’s not done, and not looking at you. “Alas, I’m at work all day, and my house wouldn’t last a minute with this energetic little thing in it.” She pinches Nepeta’s cheek gently, affectionately.

You’re a little irritated and are ready to spout a stream of words about how you’re perfectly qualified to take care of Nepeta, but you bite them back. Kanaya’s probably right, anyway. You’re royally fucked if your landlord finds out about the troll in your high-rise flat.

“Darling, would you mind taking off your shirt for a moment so I can take your measurements?” Kanaya asks, her black lipstick glinting dully.

You turn away just in time as Nepeta flings the teal item in question over her shoulder. It lands on your head like a character in a cartoon. Blushing supremely, you brush it off and stare at your blank television until you hear Kanaya’s amused “All clear, silly boy.”

Turning around, Nepeta’s swathed in dark green corduroy and pins are poking out of the fabric at seemingly random angles that somehow conform to a shirt-like shape around her slate skin. Her hat’s on straight now, and you have to admit, it’s even more adorable than you imagined. 

“This’ll make a marvelous little jacket,” Kanaya remarks, clapping her hands once in a dignified manner. “And I’ll make a shirt or two for her as well. Maybe a pair of shoes. A troll young as Nepeta shouldn’t be dashing about barefoot.” She gently slips the jacket form off Nepeta, and it retains its shape as she quickly pulls out a sketchbook and scribbles a few measurements down.

Taking advantage of Kanaya’s momentary silence, you sprint down to the bathroom and find the now squeaky-clean shirt that Nepeta had been initially wearing: You had washed it earlier in the day, before Kanaya came. When you bring it back into the living room, you practically fling it at Nepeta in your anxiety to make sure that you don’t stare at her child’s figure. Because you’re an idiot and too self-conscious.

Kanaya doesn’t take too much longer after that—long enough to get down a measurement or two more and mutter a bid to herself, pins poking out of her mouth. Finally, she withdraws from the land of fabric and width and announces that she’ll be back in a day or two with the clothes.

As you walk her to the door, she reprimands you on the filthiness of the place. “Clean it up a bit, won’t you? It’s not a good environment to raise a child.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Mom.”

She seems to enjoy this comparison, and pulls you once more into a strangling hug and ruffles Nepeta’s hair before she flounces out of your place and into the lobby.

You sigh and flop down on the ground. It gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling to have Kanaya over, even though you’d vehemently deny it if asked. It’s nice knowing someone cares.

“You know what?” you tell the troll girl next to you. Nepeta cocks her head, birdlike.

“Let’s make sure that someone always cares about the two of us.”

“Me do that!” Nepeta replies happily, climbing up onto the couch and putting her hands on her hips. “Nepeta always saves the day!”

You laugh, and the funny thing is, somehow, you can almost believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i added that this work was inspired by the famous Unwanted Free Ugly Troll, because i did not come up with the idea of trolls as pets. thank you, coldhope, for writing such a fantastic and inspirational piece!


	5. Thunderclouds

Later that day, your cabin fever gets so bad that you can’t take it any more, and you decide that you and Nepeta are getting out. She’s hyper enough, but being cooped up inside has made it ten times harder to try to catch her, and she’s slowly eating her way through not only the designated troll food but also your entire refrigerator. (Literally--she tried to take a bite out of the metal surface before her teeth scraped down the surface with a hair-raising screech.)

After you dig out a backpack big enough, you tell the troll girl that she’s going to have to stay inside for a bit. She giggles and complies easily, but it takes you ten minutes to repeatedly adjust the zipper to just the right amount of open-ness, and nuerotically asking Nepeta multiple times if she can breath. Her response is just the same: “I sure can!” in a lower-pitched voice. You wonder briefly where she picked that up, but then decide it isn’t a big deal. 

Going down the elevator is a petrifying trip of alternately worrying that Nepeta isn’t going to be able to breath and that she’s going to be seen. The couple you met earlier isn’t there, thank god, and there was no one else that knew you had Nepeta besides Sollux and Kanaya. You’re safe.

Finally, you breath fresh summer air. You walk a good ways away from the apartment before taking Nepeta out of the backpack. Her nose twitches like a rabbit’s as she sniffs the air, gasping at at the sun and bouncing in your grip excitedly. “Let me walkletmewalkpleasepleaseplease???”

A little apprehensive, you put her down and watch her totter off in front of you. People smile as they see you walking behind her, thinking she’s a toddler, and then stop and stare as they notice her gray skin and horns. You smile awkwardly and catch up a bit before they can pester you with questions.

The park’s within walking distance of your apartment, and it’s a nice one, with kiddie structures and a fountain, plus a grassy field. Kids and families run and play happily in the afternoon sun. Nepeta tries to run ahead and swing on the jungle gym, but you hold her back nervously. How would the people react to a troll on the playground? You don’t want to risk her getting hurt--you’d never be able to live with yourself. Besides, she’s still really little. 

“Kat,” Nepeta whines, “I wanna play!”

“Nepeta…I’m not so sure,” you say hesitantly. “The other kids might not want to see a troll—“

“Pleasseeeeee?”

As you look into those huge eyes, you already know you’ve lost this battle. You really need to stop letting Nepeta off so easy—she’ll be spoiled rotten at this rate. Besides, once you explain to the parents that she’s harmless…

“Fine.” You lower her onto the mulch and she giggles as she totters off to the playset, and anxiously watch as the kids stare at her gray skin and horns.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Cool costume! What are you supposed to be?”

“Why is your skin gray?”

It’s only a matter of minutes before the entire playground full of kids is crowded around Nepeta, asking questions. Parents start to walk over, looking confused. Your smile is plastered on your face and you can feel your forehead grow clammy. 

“What the hell is that?”

Nepeta moves to the top of the play structure and stands proudly, hands on hips, like a little gray superhero. Maybe not the best position, since the wind is blowing slightly and she...isn't exactly wearing pants.

“I’m a troll! My name’s Nepeta!”

You flinch as the parents begin to stare at you accusingly. “She’s not harmful, she’s just a little troll,” you tell them. “She can talk, and she has manners, and everything.” Now to explain why she's half-naked. Maybe they won't notice--her shirt is long, but you really don't want anyone thinking you're a troll pedophile. 

At the mention of “manners”, the worried looks on their faces disappate a small amount, and they gaze at Nepeta with more kindly eyes. 

Well, manners are relative, but you’re not about to tell them that.

One mom smiles. “Well, I’ve heard about these trolls on the Internet, and in the catalogs they always seem to look so sweet. Is this one trained?”

You don’t understand, at first. “…Trained?”

“Oh, you know,” she answers vaguely. “Polite speech, potty trained.” She winks, and lowers her voice. “Neutering, mainly. That way, they’re tame and won’t get into any...shenanigans.”

_Tame._

Your blood roars in your ears and you don’t realize you’re clenching your fists until you feel the bite of your fingernail against your palm.

“She’s...she’s not an animal,” you get out. You’re struggling to keep your temper, against this young woman who you’re sure doesn’t know any better. “She’s like a little kid.” The idea of giving “the operation” to such a small troll, who’s so clearly human, makes your head pound with the dull thump of your candy red blood. 

The woman looks confused, and awkwardly smiles. “But it’s a troll! You wouldn’t just let a dog run wild, would you?” You vaguely register she’s taken a small step away from you. 

You don’t care.

_Stay calm, Vantas. Keep it under control._

“Nepeta wouldn’t hurt a fly,” you mutter through clenched teeth. "Thanks for the reference, though." Before you do something drastic, you walk off quickly, leaving the group of parents to clump like tadpoles around algae. You hear the uneasy babble of people who will, more than likely, spread the word about the “strange” young man with the troll.

You’ve never been good at controlling your quick temper, and it usually results in fistfights--unlike your brother Kankri, who also has a quick temper but is more prone to lectures. Never-ending, social-justicy-y, nasal lectures. You’re just glad you were able to get out of this one. 

As you march to the playground, you see Nepeta in a group of toddlers, laughing together. You smile, relived. If she’s acting nice, then maybe the whispers behind your stuffy sweater will die down. 

“Let’s play tag!” a little boy, maybe three or four, suggests. The group of kids shouts agreement, but Nepeta looks confused. 

“Tag?”

“Somebody gets to be it, and they try to catch people!” a girl with blonde hair and glasses says bossily. “I’ll be it first. Five seconds!”

The group of kids scatters like birds, but Nepeta is still standing in the middle of the playground, all alone now, looking confused.

“Ready set GO!” the girl yells, and lunges for Nepeta’s over-large shirt. 

Your hands flutter nervously as Nepeta is grabbed, and your defenses are up now, ready to break up the scene any minute. Will she fall?

Nepeta does a faceplant onto the mulch, and your heart leaps into your throat.

“Nepeta--” you start, marching into the playground, "are you all right?” But you’re stopped dead by the troll girl, after being pinned down by the blonde, getting right back up to her feet.

The glasses girl runs away, snickering nastily, but she doesn’t stand a chance. 

Nepeta’s stubby, uncoordinated feet are nothing like themselves when she’s running. In half a second she’s leapt to her feet, honed to her target, and started sprinting, eyes narrowed in concentration. All conversations stop and eyes stare as the tiny troll pelts towards her target with the practiced technique of a hunter. 

The girl goes down, and somebody yells.

Rain clouds cluster in a corner of the robin's-egg sky.

“Vriska! Are you all right?!” a very blonde, over-done woman screeches, stumbling over to the scene. Her legs are impaired by her tight miniskirt, which reduces her speed to about half. By the time she gets to her daughter, Nepeta is crouched on top of her prey with a big grin on her face.

You’re stunned silent. The kid Nepeta tackled was twice her size. How on earth did she take the girl down?

“I caught you!”

Vriska’s bawling, tears streaming down her face, tinted slightly black by her girly makeup. “Y-you hit me! I don’t like you...you gray freak!”

Her mother glares at you as she pushes Nepeta off and protectively bends over her daughter, who looks perfectly fine other than a slight amount of mulch in her hair. She promises of “ice cream and cookies, Vriska sweetie. You don’t have to play with the nasty troll any more,” as the spoiled girl continues to bawl, snot dripping down her painted cheeks.

As they walk away, the mutters and dark stares increase. 

Nepeta is bewildered. “What...what happened?” she squeaks, looking around eagerly. “I’m good at this game! Let’s play again!”

The other kids stare at her blankly, whispering, huddled together on the metal play structure.

Someone says, “You play too hard.” 

The clump nods in agreement, the simultanious movement of a whole giving the decision bigger impact. 

You walk in and gently put a hand on Nepeta’s shoulder. “Nep, honey, we should go home now.”

She turns to you, confusion written all over her tiny face. Even her new cat hat looks perplexed. “Why?”

“They don’t like the way you play the game,” you tell her. A grim sensation is roiling in your stomach. “That’s not how you play tag.”

Nepeta opens her mouth to protest. “But--” 

“No buts, Nepeta! We’re going home now!” you snap, panic driving you over the edge. “That was bad, Nepeta! that was very BAD!” You scoop her up as she thrashes, and march off in a heat, feeling eyes following your every step.

You find the nearest available empty sidewalk around the corner and plunk her down on the asphalt, standing over her with your hands on your hips. 

Nepeta goes quiet after a second, but it’s not until you raise your hand to wipe your sweat that you notice the sheer terror on her face. She’s gone limp as a fish out of water, and she’s-- _oh fuck she’s trembling, quaking like a leaf in a wind._

“Nepeta--was--bad,” she whispers. To your horror, tiny tears are tracking down her face, and she’s withdrawn into herself, staring at the concrete under your arms. “Nepeta--won’t--do--again.” She’s cowering, and she flinches at your raised arm. 

_Shit shit shit fuck she thinks i’m going to hit her oh my god_

You kneel down in dismay and try to push the hair away from her eyes, but she tenses up when you touch her, and swallows visibly.

“Nepeta--listen,” you say urgently. “Look at me, sweetie. Please?” 

In trepidation, those tiny green eyes raise up to meet your blue ones.

“I will never, ever hit you,” you say as kindly as you can make it. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m not angry at you.”

“You...you’re not?”

“No!” The troll girl flinches at your outburst, and you lower your voice again. 

“I was scared, Nep. I was afraid for you. Not mad at you.”

“Why...why were you scared?”

“Because other people don’t understand,” you say. “They don’t know how nice you are, and because you don’t look like them, they get scared.” At her silence, you wipe her tears away very carefully. “That’s not how you treat other people, though. You need to be gentle.” 

Nepeta sniffles, and doesn’t reply.

You hitch a smile onto your face and gently lift the troll girl up onto your shoulders. She giggles and grabs your carrot-colored hair. 

“What do you say we go try some ice cream?”

As Nepeta screeches enthusiastically and tugs on your ears, you do your best to ignore the large group of people that have gathered at the edge of the playground and are burning their eyes into your back.


	6. Questions, Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 4-August 3 Megapause! This'll be my last chapter until August 3, when I come back from Japan. But I promise, when Mother of One is back, it'll be better than ever!

Once you get home, there’s ice cream all down the front of your sweater and down Nep’s shirt, and you’re both sticky and sweaty from the strange humidity outside. Thunder rumbles in the distance as you surreptitiously unlock your door and bundle Nepeta inside. 

“Kat! That was fun! Go for ice cream again?”

Uhh, no. Your little outing was enough to have made you rifle through your wallet nervously before you forked over a few dollar bills for the admittedly delicious ice cream. You’re not quite sure how you’re going to pay for the rest of the food that Nepeta is consuming like a little lion. And, speaking of large, dangerous predators...

“Nepeta, not now,” you say, a little distracted by your purple crab watch, which is telling you it’s 2:41 pm. “Come here for a sec.” 

As the girl obediently walks over to you, it strikes you how compliant she is: How she doesn’t question you every second of the day, which is what most little kids her age do, and why she was scared of being hit.

Questions for a few minutes from now. You wet a paper towel from the sink and scrub the ice cream off her face. Nepeta whines and struggles as she tries to lick the remaining goo off her chin and cheeks, but you manage to make her face syrup-free. You find yourself wondering what sort of pigment is in her gray cheeks, and stupidly worried that you’re scrubbing hard enough to accidentally rub it out. Fuckin’ bizarre, the shit you come up with.

After situating Nepeta safely on the couch, you walk off to your room and find Nepeta’s shirt neatly folded and freshly washed. Who did that? Must have been Kanaya yesterday. You can’t quite remember anymore. You’re grateful to have Nep slip it on over her thin troll body, at any rate; and impatient for Kanaya to bring those other clothes over. Bearing those parents’ stares about the pantless troll was majorly embarrassing. 

Coming back into the room, you find Nepeta staring at your blank, turned-off TV, hopping off the couch to poke the black plastic curiously. “What this?”

“Oh, that’s--a TV,” you start falteringly, not sure if you’re ready to introduce this toddler to a world of flickering lights. You weren’t raised on the stuff, your dad always preached about how the television was “evil” and how its commercials “rotted your brain.” But perhaps you could just find the kids channel and set Nepeta up with Sesame Street. It’d certainly be easier than having to watch her all day--and it would improve her reading/speaking skills. 

Could she even read? You’re ashamed to realize you haven’t provided the troll girl with one whit of intellectual stimulation. No toddler books in the house any more--the last time you had needed those was quite a while ago. 

Guilt moves you to say “See, it plays sound and moving pictures,” and grab the remote. Shit, there’s three of the damn things, and you’re not sure which one to use. But after fumbling for a bit, you’ve managed to get off whatever shady channel you had been fucking around on some nights ago and find the friendly puppets talking about letters. 

The effect on Nepeta is instantaneous. Her eyes go wide; her jaw, slack. The letter C? Bam. Cats show up on the screen and meow as Nepeta screeches, bouncing up and down excitedly. “Kat! Cat! CAT!!!”

“Calm down, Nep,” you say hastily, but the disappointment frames her whole face, so you leave her be. She won’t learn if she’s not enthusiastic, and you know that, but the thought of someone coming to your door and complaining about the noise sets your stomach aboil with anxiety.

It doesn’t take long for Sesame Street to move on to the ridiculous whatever the fuck the character is that counts numbers--Count Count? Something like that. After he goes over the numbers-- “1, 2, 3--What’s this? 4?!” in his ludicrous Transylvanian accent, Nepeta is chanting along with him, “1, 2, 3, 4!!”, waving her tiny fists in the air, shouting numbers like war cries. 

You smile, happy to see her so absorbed. Taking advantage of her momentary absence, you sneak over to the fridge and open it, but to your dismay, find it almost completely empty.

You have to go buy food soon. Why didn’t you do that when you were out of the house? Stupid, _stupid!_ You batter a fist on your forehead hard enough to hurt, relishing the slight pain. 

Your stomach growls treacherously and you glare down at your thick black sweater. Why the hell are you still wearing the damn thing? It’s like 1000 fucking degrees Celsius out there. Grunting with a sudden burst of frustration, you fling it off of you. Good thing you’re wearing a--surprise, black!--t-shirt underneath, because you’d feel pretty damn uncomfortable around Nepeta shirtless, even though she is absorbed in the television.

Well, not eating a snack isn’t going to kill you. You grab your laptop and open Google, typing “normal three-year-old behavior” in the search bar. You’re not sure of Nepeta’s age, since troll years are measured in some weird-ass system of “sweeps” that you have no fucking idea about, but taking a wild guess might confirm of some of what you already know.

What comes up is interesting: Toddlers of around three years should be asking a fuck ton of questions. Why is the sky blue? What’s a bird? They should also be very temperamental, refusing to do a lot of what you ask them, and throwing temper tantrums every few seconds. Finally, obsession. As one website puts it, “They find something that fascinates them and then eat, drink, and sleep the topic.” 

Well, judging by Nepeta’s constant chatter about cats on your walk to the ice cream shop, there’s one point down. But the lack of temper tantrums and unusual obedience is making you a little nervous, so you open a new tab and try “Harley’s Animal Emporium.”

The first thing that pops up is their website, which is all pastel yellow and green with nice type fonts and a pleasant design. The home page depicts a smiling picture of the cute girl you met there, Jade, and an older man with glasses, a flamboyant mustache, and a goofy grin linking arms. They both share identical buck teeth popping out of their seemingly genuine grins, and there’s a fucking essay about their kindness to animals and their love of nature. In other words, it’s a froufrou environmental paradise for animals!!!11!1 :B

Something’s not right. You prod around the section titled “Staff,” and find the boss of the store.

A burly man looms out from the page. He’s ripped, with skin so dark you can barely see his facial features, except for a gold tooth jutting out from his wide lips. Wearing a long green coat with a border of alternating colors, a fearsome peg leg, and large, tinted glasses that shimmer a plethora of colors, he's utterly terrifying. But somehow familiar. In fact, he bears a striking resemblance to...

Aha. "Lord" English. English is your landlord's surname. Now you know where the guy got his nasty temperament from.

There’s a bit on English’s love of animals, etcetera, and other shit that sounds really phoney...and bam, a sentence pops out at you: “English is a firm believer in the safe adoption of trolls and is a world leader on troll adoption.”

“Safe adoption, my ass,” you mutter. There’s something fishy, now that you think about it, of how Jade was so eager to get rid of Nepeta, and how she hurriedly nudged you away from the door that the troll girl came through. The store smelled ever so faintly of stale urine when you walked in, you recall. Stale urine and...and blood.

The smell of troll blood is one that you’ll not forget for a long, long time.

But Jade seemed to genuinely about Nepeta. Is it possible that you have it completely wrong? That the emporium is simply a nice, eco-conscious pet store that happened to have an especially timid troll?

You put your head in your hands in frustration, heaving a sigh. The florescent light from the laptop flickers gently. Sesame Street is still blaring and Nepeta is still cheering along, loud enough to make you nervous. Your stomach growls and the sun is setting, humidity beading on your pale skin. Aware of the time until the day is up.

Fuck it, you’re going to go get food.

Nepeta’s still distracted by the television as you close your laptop and tiptoe out of the kitchen. The fake wood floor creaks beneath your cumbersome feet, but you make it to the other side safely without being detected by the other party. 

You unlock the apartment door, open it, and run into a giant black chest.

“Hello, Vantas,” a deep voice growls. “Going somewhere?” 

_Shit._

You nervously look up, even though you know who it is. Dark, dark brown skin, muscular arms, a shaved head, and a metal prosthetic leg. He’s wearing a short-sleeved black shirt with bright green trousers and suspenders, with a red bow tie clamped around his neck. The overall look would be comical if he wasn’t so damn _scary_.

“H-Hello, Mr. English,” you stutter, trying to gain your composure. 

“Don’t try to butter me up with the ‘Mr. English’,” snaps your landlord in a voice that’s deep yet somehow whining. “You know perfectly well. Why I’m here.” He has a curious habit of stopping his sentences in the middle, then starting again. You’ve never been sure if it’s just for effect or if it’s just a lack of confidence. Wait, scratch that. This fucking guy doesn’t lack confidence, considering as he’s lorded over your apartment complex with an iron fist for as long as you can remember.

You struggle to maintain a blank face. “Caliborn, I’ve paid my rent and I’m not in the red. What did I do wrong?” You swallow the fear behind your words. Your shitty job has been cutting workers and pay recently, and you were struggling to buy food before you bought Nepeta. If Caliborn is here...it can’t be good.

Caliborn looms over the door, looking ready to bust into your room, and you’re all that’s standing between him and Nepeta. 

“I’ve heard rumors of you, Vantas. Carrying around an animal. A troll.”

You laugh nervously. “A troll? What’s that?” You inwardly pray that Nepeta won’t come up to hear the commotion, and that the tiny patter of footsteps are just your imagination.

“You’re an idiot, Vantas,” Caliborn spits, sticking his miniscule nose in your face. What with the green outfit and all, he looks very reptilian. “Don’t play dumb. I have photo evidence.” He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a crumpled photo. Your heart skips a beat as you see it. It’s blurry, like it was taken from a distance, and it’s of you during your little park outing with with Nepeta. 

“Look, Caliborn,” you plead, immediately giving up your facade, “Nepeta is good. She uses a litter box and she doesn’t scratch the furniture. I don’t see what the problem is—“

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Your landlord explodes with rage, frothing spittle landing on your ear. “THE PROBLEM, VANTAS, IS THAT YOU BROUGHT AN ANIMAL INTO MY APARTMENT COMPLEX. WITHOUT PERMISSION. IT IS A FILTHY BEAST AND IT MUST BE REMOVED IMMEDIATELY. BEFORE IT DOES ANYTHING ELSE.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. _Oh god no, oh god no…_

As you struggle to find words to say, Caliborn leers triumphantly at you, his rotting breath floating away from your nose. You’re sure he’s going to beat you into a literal pulp with those massive hands that look like they squeeze oranges in his spare time.

“Ding dong! Who’s there?”

Your heart drops out of your stomach at the reedy, excited voice. Your hands weakly stretch out to stop Nepeta from going out the door, but she skillfully dashes away from your grip, squirms out from under your legs, and boldly walks over to Caliborn. 

With a curious claw, she pokes him in the side of the leg. 

“Hello!”


	7. Lemon Tart and Bitter Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i would like to formally apologize for how long it took for me to write this chapter. i've had a lot on my plate, but that's not a real excuse. starting today, i'm going to be doing my utmost to post at least one chapter every two weeks. again, i'm sorry for the delay, but thank you so much for sticking with me!
> 
> also, don't forget about the cover contest i'm holding to design the cover for Mother of One! you can read about [here](http://all-natural-harmonia.tumblr.com/post/56323732573/mother-of-one-cover-contest)!

Caliborn lets out an inhuman-sounding, surprisingly high-pitched screech and jumps back, crashing into a decorative table in the lobby.

“GET THAT THING THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!!"

Someone sticks their head out a door angrily at the noise—a young man, no doubt irritated at the tremendous racket your landlord is making. But when he spots Caliborn, his face goes white as a sheet and he quickly shuts the door. A series of clicks can be heard as the door is presumably locked several times over.

Taking advantage of the slight distraction, you grab the cowering Nepeta and cradle her in your arms. Her whole body is quaking and she buries her face in your shirt. Wrapping your arms around her thin frame, your face heats up and you want to punch Caliborn in the jaw for what he’s done to your little girl...

Caliborn has recovered and looms over you, six feet of pure muscle and pent-up rancor, and for a moment, you’re worried about your own well-being. Nepeta trembles in your arms, and you’re considering running, if not for your own sake for this small gray child of yours. But that’s not an option, as escaping would give Caliborn the grounds to, on his logic, terminate your apartment contract.

Your mind flickers with precious few plausible ideas, but you suddenly remember Kanaya’s words about troll school. A desperate idea pops into your head, and without thinking on it any further, you blurt out: “Caliborn, I’m sending Nepeta to school. She’ll be gone most of the day, and I’ll keep her under control.”

Caliborn blinks and breathes out, and you almost balk at the foul stench of stale sweat that hovers around his shirt. “What did you just say.”

“S-school,” you stammer, barely being able to keep your nerve. “It starts tomorrow. She’ll be gone all day.” You’re subtly slipping a hand over Nepeta’s mouth so she won’t try to question why you’re saying things about her she doesn’t understand, because if doesn’t understand that you’re lying--and you’re almost positive that she won’t--she’ll try to correct you.

“Why the hell. Would that convince me.”

Nepeta’s whimpering in fear, your palms are sweating like crazy, but you’re determined now that your lie is a good one. “Because she’ll learn how to be just like a human. She’s already learning really fast. Give her a week or two, and she’ll be just like a little kid!” 

The context here reads: You can’t kick a little kid out of an apartment. You’re hoping Caliborn has enough humanity in his heart to allow you your feeble lie, but from the glare on his face, that’s not good enough. You’re running out of steam and wow, this is going to end badly, isn’t it?

One last card to play. This one is, frankly, ridiculous. Why are you even appealing to Caliborn’s “empathetic side”? Does it even exist? Well, you’re about to find out. 

“Please, Caliborn. I just want to give Nepeta a chance. If you take her away...” you swallow at the thought. “She’ll never survive. She’s just a toddler.”

To you, Nepeta is a little kid, but you realize too late that she’s not that to anybody else. To the general public, trolls are just humanoid parrots that you can dress up, like dolls! How could they possibly be human?

As you stare pleadingly at him, Nepeta’s heart pounding like a rabbit’s by your wrist, your landlord’s face seems to shift imperceptibly into something a little less terrifying.

For a long time, it’s quiet.

“Perfect condition, Vantas,” he spits finally. “Your room. Had better look. Immaculate. And if that troll makes any trouble...” He leers at you, grinning like a skull, and bashes his hands together with a loud clap that makes you jump. “You’re out. And that troll is sent to the pound.” As you flinch, he snickers meanly, cracks his knuckles, and stands up straighter. “I’ve got my eye on you.” WIth a last glare, he stomps down that stairs and out of sight.

You let out the biggest sigh of your life that you hadn’t realized you were holding. That was the closest call you can remember for any situation you’ve ever been in, ever.

Nepeta’s gone limp in your arms. You stroke her forehead and whisper, “It’s ok sweetie, Caliborn’s gone now. You’re safe.” She responds with a trembling murmur and snuggles into the black fleece of your sweater. 

“Scary man,” she whimpers. “Yelling at Kat and Nep. Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s not your fault, Nepeta,” you tell her soothingly, stroking her horns. “Caliborn is a big meanie. He’s not a nice person.”

“Why?” She’s recovered slightly, if she’s asking questions. That’s a good sign.

“He’s probably not a very happy person. Probably he is very sad, so he’s mean to other people because he hurts inside.”

The troll girl’s face wrinkles in concentration as she digests this new fact. Finally, she decides, “When I get bigger, I’ll be more like a human, so he can be happy and not scared of me!” 

She looks pleased enough, but your heart is twisting. Somehow, probably through the events of these past few days, Nepeta is beginning to think that being a troll is a bad thing. Unfortunately, as much as you’d like to, you can’t tell her that she’s wrong. Because the way the world sees her, she’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Before you can muster up a reply, she’s squirming in your arms and wanting to come down. You place her on the ground, and she starts to run back to the slightly open apartment door, but stops mid-step and turns to you. 

“Kat, am I gonna go to school?”

It takes you a minute to answer, but when you do, you hope you’re choosing the right thing. 

“Yeah, Nep, I think you are.”

************

It does take a bit of prodding the internet and Google Maps, but you finally find a pre-k school that’s relatively close to your apartment. You haven’t the slightest idea, however, how to enroll Nepeta, how much it will cost, and if they’ll even accept a troll. Nervously, as Nepeta remains spellbound by Curious George, you pick up your cell phone and dial the number on the website.

It’s 5:00, will they even pick up? The pictures made it seem like some woman’s house that had been splashed in primary colors. It looked cozy and nice enough for a toddler to learn, but what if the teacher who runs it, some Ms. Serket, is actually a serial killer in disguise?

You shake your head to get rid of the nervous thoughts that always cloud your mind when you use the phone. Being so distracted, you almost miss the soft voice pick up on the other end. “Hello?”

“O-oh!” you stutter, caught by surprise. “My name’s Karkat Vantas, and I wanted to, uh, ask about your school’s enrollment policy.”

The voice gains a smile. “Oh! Hello, Mr. Vantas. I’m Aranea Serket, the founder and teacher of Spinneret School of Pre-K Learning for all ethnicities, genders, and political backgrounds, regardless of monetary status or learning disabilities. We accept all students who are between the ages of three to six years, and we make an effort to extend a hand to those with financial concerns. Would you like to inquire about our award-winning education system or simply to enroll your child?”

Your head is spinning at this torrent of words that were said very, very fast. You’re reminded intensely of your brother’s love of lectures. He and this chick should get together. 

“Umm, well, you said all ethnicities,” you reply hesitantly. “Does that apply to...other species?”

There’s a pause on the woman’s end, but it’s not for long. “Wow! You’re the second person to enroll their troll here! If your troll has a basic grasp of the English language and can hold a pencil, you’re good.” She giggles, and in a moment, her formal speech pattern has gone out the window, and her British accent is less affected, more casual. “I love teaching trolls! The one we have here is such a dear. Sweet little Eridan! His family treats him like a prince. They paid a fortune to let him in--they really were quite nervous about him getting along with the other kids. But he does fine, if a bit stuffy. I have a lot of hope that he’ll get better at social interaction. How’s your little darling? Male or female, or do they prefer to identify as neither? It’s entirely their choice, I hope you know. All these people trying to make choices for children...it’s ridiculous! Oh, now I’m so curious. Tell me the name.”

So many words. What was she saying about gender identification? You’re not going to pretend to understand troll gender. You decide to go with what you’ve assumed and say, “Her name’s Nepeta. She’s about three years old, I think.” You pause. Just how old is Nepeta? You honestly never got around to letting a professional tell you, due to your rather covert operation of keeping her in your apartment. Come to think of it, aren’t kids supposed to get shots and a doctor’s checkup, like, sometime soon after they go to a new home? Fuck your life. If Nepeta gets some creepy alien disease, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

“You think? Hmmm, sounds like someone needs to learn their sweeps-to-years conversions!” Giggle. “Well, it’s a tad late now, but if you can make it tomorrow at...let’s say 8:00 am? Do you have work? Oh bother, you probably do. I don’t want you to get fired! Is tonight ok? Maybe in, say, half an hour at Crocker Cafe?”

Your head is swimming. “Wait, is what okay? What’s in half an hour?”

“Let’s meet up and discuss your troll! I can take her in as soon as you want, but I want to make sure everything’s in order--papers, shots, et cetera. Don’t want any legal or medical issues! Plus, everything is nicer over a cup of coffee.”

Did you just get asked out on a date by some woman you barely know? Does this even qualify as a date? Fuck it, maybe you’re just so starved for romantic interaction that you’re misinterpreting things. 

“Uh, okay, sure, fine! That’s great!” you stammer, trying to match Aranea’s boundless enthusiasm. “5:30. See you there.”

“All right, see you!” Aranea chirps, and there’s a slight click as she hangs up.

there’s a pounding headache between your eyes. You’re a little wiped from your meeting with Caliborn, but right now, a cup of coffee sounds wonderful. And it will be good to sort out the medical stuff about Nepeta as soon as possible.

The troll girl in question is glued to the TV, but she still notices you trying to leave.

“Kat! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to talk about doctors and shots and papers,” you say, making it sound as boring as possible. You even manage a yawn, which isn’t that hard, given your current state. “You don’t want to come, Nep. Oh look, Curious George found a kitty!” 

Pointing to the tv gets Nepeta distracted, and she races over to the couch to watch the brown monkey put a cat in a basket with a lot of faint “Ooh-ee-ah!” noises. Smiling, you slip out the door and lock it behind you.

The walk’s much nicer than before in the setting sun, with strange looks, and no judging parental glares. It’s a warm night, and the uncaring hustle and bustle of the city is familiar and comforting after your long, stressful day.

Soon, the azure door with the white, curly letters greets you, accompanied by the smell of baking bread. Crocker Cafe is a nice, neighborhood place that’s a bit of a walk, but it’s worth it for the killer pastries. You always feel better buying from there instead of Starbucks. 

The bells jingle merrily as you open the door. There’s not a whole lot of people, but you quickly realize you have no idea what this Serket woman looks like. However, it isn’t particularly hard to find her, as a youngish woman darts up to you as soon as you take a step inside the dimly lit diner. She’s wearing a dark blue collared dress that has a schoolteacher appearance to it, stretched a bit too tightly across her rotund hips, and she waves merrily as she hops over. 

“Hi, Karkat!” she says, smiling genuinely. “I recognized you because after we talked on the phone, I realized I had heard your last name before. Then it hit me: I used to date your brother!”

You’re shocked. “How could you stand him for any length of time?” Last you talked to him, Kankri was moaning on about at age 22 and in college, he was still single. And it wasn’t really a huge shock. The poor guy has some serious issues, you recall a bit miserably. 

Aranea’s smile, for a second, tightens on her wide face, and she looks almost threatening in the lamplight. “He wasn’t always that bad. I guess he always seemed a little mysterious, and I wanted to know about him under the stupid lectures he always gave. But...” She trails off and stares at the window. “I broke up with him because he shut me out. He just didn’t seem interested in talking to me at all! And he never seemed to get the idea of a relationship being a two-way deal. All he did was complain about himself from the start.” 

It takes a moment, but then she hitches the smile back on her face. “But there are more pressing things to discuss! Let’s get a table, shall we?” Her lipstick and heels are a matching shade of cherry red, and gleam as she clicks over to a booth. You follow suit and wow, you really shouldn’t be looking there, you sicko. You have a little girl to raise and it won’t help you to be trying to pick up chicks.

You sink into the soft fabric of the booth seat, exhausted. Soon, a waiter walks over and the two of you order coffee. Aranea adds two doughnuts and a slice of lemon tart to the bill, with a wink of “Don’t tell my diet.” 

As the waiter walks off, Aranea leans forward on the table. Her dress buttons threaten to burst, and you try to pretend not to notice. 

“Sooo...wanna tell me about this troll of yours?” she asks eagerly. Her skin is pale, but the dim lighting of the cafe makes it look darker, her eyes lower. “How did you get ahold of one? They’re pretty rare, you know.”

“Uh, there was a pet store, and I kinda just...bought her.” Splendid. Now you sound illiterate. “Er, it was called Harley’s Emporium, I think.”

“Hmmm...Aranea prods her temples. “Gee, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of this place before...”

As she thinks, the waiter brings the pastries and coffee. You gulp down the piping hot mug without a care for your poor tongue, although you regret it a moment later. As you try to quietly care for your now-scalded mouth, Aranea snaps her fingers. “Aha! Harley’s Emporium was in the paper just a few days ago. It was something about...err, let’s see here...” She pulls out a smartphone, types a few letters, stares at the screen for a moment. Then her eyes grow wide with shock.

“You’d better take a look at this,” she says finally, her hand shaking slightly as she hands you the phone. 

With trepidation, you take the phone and look at the screen. It’s an article titled “Illegal Troll Smuggler Arrested; Owner of Friendly Neighborhood Pet Store” with a picture of the same huge man you saw on the website being restrained by cops. The caption reads “‘Lord’ English found to be the leader of an illegal troll smuggling operation, covertly selling the baby trolls at cheap prices through the Harleys’ store.”

Your stomach drops through the floor. Scrolling through the article warrants pictures of a tearful Jade being consoled by her grandfather, the mustached man you saw on the website as well. 

“‘I feel utterly awful about what we’ve done,’ Jake English told reporters Wednesday. ‘My granddaughter and I absolutely adore animals, but Lord English came to us one day when our store wasn’t doing so well...and offered us a generous sum of money to buy these trolls of his in exchange for letting him take control of the shop. However, after we questioned the condition that the poor things arrived in, he threatened to pin the crime on us if we told anybody. This went on for quite a while, until finally...Jade sold the last troll in the newest shipment and plucked up the courage to call the police.’”

Your teeth clench together as you stare at the pictures of frightened, naked, tiny trolls crammed into cages in the backs of trucks. They’re filthy, with matted black hair and dull eyes. They don’t look human, and the article ends with an ambiguous future for them.

Aranea looks at you worriedly as you struggle to breath normally. Putting a hand on your shoulder, she says, “Karkat dear, it’s an awful tragedy, but you still need to take care of your own little girl.”

Hearing this clears your head slightly. Your ears are buzzing slightly and your pulse is up, but you manage to sit down from your slightly standing position and take an untasting bite of a doughnut. “Yeah. What do you need to know?”

“Have you any of her medical records? If you got her from this pet store, it’s unlikely, but I need to have that information before I can legally let her go to school.” 

Your stomach drops even farther. Jade hadn’t given you any of that when you had bought Nepeta. “No. I have nothing at all.”

Aranea sighs, and her brow furrows worriedly. “Well, that complicates things. I don’t know if I can let Nepeta go to school without proper medical data, Karkat. I have to be sure she’s not going to get any of the other kids sick.”

“Please, Aranea,” you beg, throwing politeness to the winds. “Nepeta has to be in school by tomorrow. If she’s not, I’ll get kicked out of my apartment and...who knows what’ll happen to her.” There are tears of anxiety welling in your eyes. “I’ll pay you...I’ll pay you whatever you want. But please, let her go.” 

Aranea looks astonished at your astoundingly stupid words. “It’s not a monetary problem I’m worried about! I’ll gladly take Nepeta for whatever you can pay, dear. I’m just worried about the condition she arrived in, because who knows what she might be carrying, especially since she probably hasn’t had any shots and the, er, method of her transportation here.” She stares at your desperate face with a slightly tilted head, pauses, and sighs. “But if it’s that important, I can let her go tomorrow. But you have to get medical information about her ASAP.” 

You exhale a huge sigh of relief and grasp Aranea’s hand gratefully. “Thank you so, so much, Aranea. I promise I’ll get everything sorted out to-to-morrow...” Your words are cut off by a huge yawn. Your watch reads 5:58. After everything that’s happened today, you are utterly exhausted, coffee or otherwise. 

The teacher smiles gently at you. “Of course, dear. School starts at 8:00 am tomorrow. I can’t wait to meet this Nepeta of yours. But I’ll let you go for now--I’m sure you’re absolutely fatigued.” 

As she gets up from the booth, she frowns at the untouched piece of lemon tart. “You can take that, coffee’s on me,” she says kindly, and waves goodbye as she takes the check up to the counter. 

You remain at the table for a few minutes after she leaves, moodily picking at the lemon tart. You’re sure it’s delicious, but you can’t taste a thing, partially out of emotion over the smuggled trolls, but mainly because your tongue is still very burned. Finally, as the sun is low in the sky and purple dusk is starting to creep across the city, you get up and start the journey home.

As you walk, you decide that, one way or another, you will help those trolls. Somehow, you’re going to make sure they reach a safe, happy home. But first, you know you have to do the same for your own little troll girl.


	8. Back to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write this chapter in under two weeks. I really, really tried. With school just around the corner and my schedule filling up fast, though, updates will probably still take at least a week, but I'll continue to write as fast as I can!

Your alarm clock was an attempt to be dramatic and to make you jump out of bed, but hearing “SIE SIND DAS ESSEN UND WIR SIND DIE JAEGER” first thing in the morning isn’t exactly the best thing to put you in a good mood at 7:00 am. You’re half scared to death by Nepeta jumping on your face anyway, so the alarm clock is a moot point. 

“School! School! I get to meet friends and people!!!!” she screeches, prowling around the room. 

Groan. Right. You’re taking Nepeta to school today, and that means you have to look like you have a little bit of class. That means not wearing your favorite battered shirt with the bipedal pumpkin on it, even though he is very well dressed. Nope, you opt for slacks and a vest/tshirt combo instead, and brush your carrot-colored hair for the first time in a day or two. 

There’s a pleasant surprise waiting for you when you drag yourself into the kitchen: A package addressed from Kanaya Maryam waiting in your package chute. From the looks of it, she actually drove herself over to your place at 5:00 am, wondered why you were still asleep, and decided to just leave it for you. 

Whatever. The clothes are pristine and adorable, and will hopefully make a good impression on Nepeta’s classmates. And the parents of those classmates. That’s important, too. 

“Nep!” you call. She runs over to you, hopping in place eagerly. “Clothes, clothes! Nepeta likes clothes!”

Wrestling the dirty black shirt off of her, you carry the squirming troll girl into the bathroom for a quick bath. Keeping her distracted by tickling her neck makes her giggle loudly, but you get a few innocent scratches to the palm in the process. You’re both laughing by the time you’ve filled the bathtub with a few inches of warm, bubble-filled water. 

Scrub, scrub. You wish you had some bathtime songs to sing to her, but all you know are crazy anime songs that you can only sing half of, and probably wouldn’t be appropriate if they were translated into English anyway. Nursery rhymes are all you can think of. 

“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…” you start. She picks up quickly, as always. Soon you two are practically singing the whole Mother Goose book. But glancing at your Iphone clock reminds you that you still need to find directions to the kindergarten, and get transportation. 

“Come on, Nepeta,” you say regretfully, handing her a towel, “We have to go to school now, so dry off quickly, okay?” 

“Yay!” she shrieks, and scrubs herself down quickly. It’s not very effective. You have to take a smaller towel and give her hair the Karkat treatment: rubbing it so fast the water practically flies in your face, and leaves her hair an awful, frizzy mess. Good thing it’s so short. Taking the hairbrush, you run it through her mane a few times. 

Okay. Time to put your secret love of fashion to good use. Your friend was kind enough to add more than one outfit--aside from a tiny black t shirt, grey cargo pants, a corduroy green jacket, and a sock-tennis shoe combo, there’s a lacy, olive green and white dress, with a pair of white flats. Your heart practically melts just looking at it, and that’s not even when it’s on the designated recipient. 

“Nepeta, are you okay with dresses?” you ask her, inwardly pleading that she won’t rip it. When she nods enthusiastically, you unzip the back and help her step into it. God, it’s intricate. How much did it cost Kanaya to make this? It’s got tiny kittens embroidered on the ruffled collar. Normally you aren’t into lace and shit, but the way Kanaya’s made this dress, it’s classy and downright adorable. 

After you help Nepeta zip up the dress, pull on her socks, and buckle her shoes, you find a hair ribbon tied around a tiny brush at the bottom of the package, with a note taped to it.

The handwriting is elegant cursive: _Dear Karkat, I hope these clothes go well with your little darling’s lifestyle! Don’t worry, I had the dress already made, I just added a little embroidery. I knew you’d feel guilty about it, so don’t bother. Love, Kanaya xx ___

__You smile crookedly, thankful for Kanaya’s extreme generosity and for her uncanny knowledge of how you think._ _

__Brushing the troll girl’s hair is extremely soothing. Then you remember to glance at your phone and you almost have a heart attack: 7:38._ _

___Shitshitshitfuck oh god_ _ _

__It takes you a minute to calm down and remember that all you have to do is ask Siri for directions to Spinneret School of Pre-K Learning. After you do so, she blandly informs you that by walking, it’ll take 20 minutes. You can make it if you leave right now._ _

__You are about to tuck Nepeta into her “travel backpack” when you realize that it’ll muss up her perfect hair and flawlessly ironed dress. She protests at your hesitation. “Kat, we gonna be late!”_ _

__“How will I get you out of the apartment?” you mutter to yourself. You’re not expecting Nepeta to answer, but when she does, it’s a decent idea._ _

__“I stay still and Kat carries me outside,” she says solemnly. “Nep not move.”_ _

__Okay. Project Troll Doll, commence. You grab the slice of lemon tart from the fridge, scarf it down, and carefully lift Nepeta into your grasp. Her legs tuck over your forearm and you secure your other arm around her middle. Glancing at the two of you in the mirror, you have to admit, Nepeta does look like a big doll...aside from the gray skin and horns, of course. But you think if you move fast through the lobby, it’ll work._ _

__She starts to giggle as you walk to the elevator, tremors running through her body. You flinch and whisper, “Let’s play the still game, Nep. If you can stay still until we get outside, you get a treat!”_ _

__Nepeta’s face becomes stone-cold serious._ _

__“Nep will do it,” she mutters, with all of that honestly sincere little-kid emotion. “Nep will win!”_ _

__You smile and hustle down to the elevator. But to your horror, there’s another guy in there, a young man with an easy grin and big, dorky glasses. Nepeta twitches a hand, and you quickly cover it with your own._ _

__“Wow, what a doll!” the guy remarks, grinning. “I love the horns. Reminds me of those trolls some people have. And that dress is so intricate.”_ _

__You freeze up mid-reply. “T-thanks… Uh, it’s for a, um, cousin. Taking it to her today.” His teeth are huge, front teeth poking out of his mouth like a rabbit, making him look like a total dork. He practically screams nerd, come to think of it. Is his shirt tucked into his pants?_ _

__“That’s kind of a shame!” he replies, frowning sympathetically. “I’ve always been a fan of dolls. My dad got one for me when I was a kid.” He grins crookedly. "Now that was a weird birthday."_ _

__His easy, buck-toothed smile returns. You wish he would stop that. It makes you think he knows your secret. But he’s awfully cute, for a guy. Forget hitting on chicks, you’re easy, and you still have a kid to take care of, stupid. No time for relationships of any kind._ _

__The elevator dings, and the cute dork steps out, waving at you quickly before his blue shirt disappears down the hall._ _

__You sigh as the elevator door closes. You haven’t had a relationship for...years, now, not since a specific incident in your past that you try to forget about, but you still find yourself marking sections of your life as before her and after her. Ever since, you shut yourself off from people, convinced that you were going to ultimately break them in the end. That’s why you lived alone for so long._ _

__Nepeta seems to sense your sadness. She reaches a ruffled hand out and pats your neck._ _

__“Is Nep doing a good job?” she asks, concerned._ _

__You force a smile. “You’re doing great, honey. You totally had that guy convinced.”_ _

__She beams, and in that moment, it’s worthwhile._ _

__Once you reach your floor, you can feel the receptionist’s eyes on your back, but you hustle and smile brightly at the people who stare, acting as if nothing is wrong. _Huh? You say I have a rather large, odd-looking doll in my hands? Nonsense!__ _

__Wrestling the phone out of your pocket with Nepeta balancing on your arm, the directions say you have a few miles to go. Groaning, you slip it back into your pocket and let Nepeta down._ _

__She’s eager to walk at first, and begs to know how she did as a doll. You assure her she was fantastic, which isn’t too far from the truth. But after about ten minutes, she starts to complain about the walk. You can’t blame her. It sucks that you can’t drive. So you pick her up again and let her sit on your shoulders._ _

__Long story short, the walk was uneventful, save for more irritating stares at Nepeta’s obvious troll-ness. But after taking several turns into a fancy neighborhood, you arrive at a warm and friendly looking, smallish house with a hand-painted sign on it that says **Spinneret School of Pre-K Learning** , with smaller letters under it that inform you of its acceptance for all ethnicities, genders, and political backgrounds, regardless of monetary status or learning disabilities. Exactly what Aranea had told you on the phone. _ _

__It’s 8:05. You hesitantly walk up to the door and hit the door knocker against the bright blue door. You can hear childish singing coming from inside._ _

__After a few moments, in which the singing is hushed, the door opens, and Aranea leans forward, grinning warmly. She’s in a loose blue dress with a plastic, paint-stained apron over it._ _

__“Hi, Karkat! Is this Nepeta? Wow, what a cutie! Come on in! I’ll let you hang out for a few minutes, so you can feel comfortable about leaving your little girl here.”_ _

__With trepidation, you feel Nepeta’s hand slide into your own, and the two of you walk in together._ _

__The house is warm, with a refrigerator decorated with letter and number magnets, and handprints on the walls. There’s a colorful foam mat on the ground and a lot of little kids in a circle sitting on it, their curious gazes set on you._ _

__One of them sticks out like a sore thumb--he’s sitting away from the rest, and is dressed elegantly, almost to the point of ridiculousness, with dark blue pinstriped pants and a long-sleeved black shirt, and a violet cape swirled around his feet. What really stands him out, though, is his gray skin in the same shade as Nepeta’s--but where Nepeta’s ears are wide and catlike, his are strange fins, translucent and aquatic-seeming._ _

__When he sees Nepeta walk into the room, his little face flushes a delicate shade of purple, and he shifts on the floor._ _

__Aranea smiles and says, “Everybody, this is Nepeta! She looks different from us. That’s because she’s a troll, just like Eridan! She has gray skin and horns, but she is just like you, and wants to make new friends. So you all need to be very nice to her.”_ _

__Simultaneously, every eye in the room shifts to the young troll sitting by himself in the corner. He scowls at the group, and shifts his gaze towards Nepeta, where he flushes violet again, and looks down._ _

__You can’t suppress a smile. Looks like someone has a crush._ _

__Nepeta seems more than happy to walk over and sit next to him, after waving to everyone happily. She’s absorbed in her new surroundings, and seems to have forgotten about you._ _

__In an undertone, Aranea tells you, “We’re learning about numbers right now. You can stick around for a bit, but you probably won’t want to stay for long, it gets a bit repetitive.” She winks. “Looks like little Eri’s found a friend, finally! He hasn’t warmed up to anyone else before. I love Nep’s dress, by the way! It’s absolutely adorable.”_ _

__She straightens up and tells the class, “Okay, let’s go over the numbers! Who can tell me the first ten?”_ _

__There’s a great flurry of movement as most of the class raises their hands, but Nepeta stands up and shouts, “Nep can!”_ _

__Aranea smiles. “All right, Nepeta, what are the first ten numbers?”_ _

__“One two thee five ten seven FOUR!” she says triumphantly, waving her little hands happily._ _

__You wince, sure Nepeta is going to be chided by her class. You can see them instantly clump together, and you think you hear a snicker. Nepeta really is quite small compared to them. Will she be all right?_ _

__Aranea just smiles. “Not quite. Can someone else help Nepeta out?”_ _

__Another kid raises his hand and says, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” His little voice is smug, like he thinks Nepeta is an idiot._ _

__You clench your teeth, afraid Nepeta is going to be terribly hurt. But, once again, you’re surprised, as she just giggles and apologizes. “Sorry! Next time.”_ _

__Aranea purses her lips. “Class, this is Nepeta’s first time in school. I told you you have to be nice to her. If you’re not nice, you will lose your painting privileges for the day. You don’t want that, do you?”_ _

__Instantly, the whole class straightens and cries out. Aranea smiles self-indulgently. “Okay, so who can count to twenty?”_ _

__You stay for the first ten minutes or so, but what you see is worrying, even to your anxiety-ridden mind. Nepeta is quick to answer questions, but the words come out jumbled, even garbled. The answers are usually in the ballpark, but in the wrong order, such as when she counted to ten._ _

__Maybe she’s just bad with numbers? It was probably her smuggled past. You hope that’s all it is. Aranea doesn’t seem concerned._ _

__“She’s a newbie,” she tells you in an undertone, when the kids take a break to draw. “Plus, she’s a lot younger than most of the students here. And she’s not even human! Nepeta will be fine, Karkat. No need to worry. I’ll make sure she turns out all right.”_ _

__As you turn to leave, your fears slightly sated, you hear Nepeta call your name._ _

__“Karkat! Look what I drew!” she says proudly. You glance at the scribbled picture and oh god your heart. The picture displays two people, one tall and one short, with scratches of green and black and red._ _

__It’s you, you and Nepeta, holding hands._ _

__I LoV e kAt_ _

__You can feel the blood rush to your face as she hands it to you. You don’t think anyone’s ever drawn anything for you, ever._ _

__“Thanks, Nep,” you whisper, your voice stupidly choked with emotion._ _

__She grabs your leg then as you start to walk out the door. “Where Kat goin?”_ _

__“I have to go to work now, sweetie,” you tell her, picking her up and putting her down again on the brightly colored floor. “Nepeta’s gonna stay here and have fun with the other kids while Karkat goes to work.”_ _

__Her mouth puckers as she digests the information, her lip wobbling. “But…”_ _

__Oh god. Please don’t let her cry. She’ll get kicked out and the other kids will laugh at her._ _

__“No,” you say hastily, bending down and putting a hand on her cheek. “This is very important! You have to go to school so meanie Caliborn doesn’t kick us out of the apartment, okay? It’s Nepeta’s job! It will help me a lot.”_ _

__As she hears the words _Nepeta’s job_ , her lip stops wobbling, and she stand up straighter. _ _

__“Nepeta’s job,” she repeats, turning the word over in her mouth. “I will help Kat so Kat don’t have to worry.”_ _

__Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of its chest from the ridiculous pride and pain and...love? Is this what it feels like to care, to truly care, about someone else? It’s been a long time._ _

__“Good girl,” you get out, and manage a slight wave at Aranea as you totter out the door like a toddler, leaving the warm room full of small lives behind._ _


	9. Kismesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I think this chapter is a good one to stop on! Not permanently, of course. But judging by the time it's been taking me to update, I'm putting Mother of One on hiatus for a while. I'll restart in December at the latest. Probably November, or possibly October. I just need some time to buckle down and relearn my study habits. Sorry you guys, but thanks for understanding. 
> 
> In other news...the winner of the Mother of One Cover contest was new-story-arc! URL: [new-story-arc.tumblr.com](www.new-story-arc.tumblr.com) Thanks for entering everybody, all the entries were so cute! :3
> 
> Anyway, about the story...I typed up the part with Aranea, of course, before the shocking upd8! So you can rest assured that her intentions are not bad, I promise. Just wanted to throw that out there. 
> 
> Also, I did take a few liberties with the Pesterchum section. ~~I couldn't figure out how to get the canon type font~~ Kankri will be starring in his own fic, Catalyst, which I may or may not release sometime during the MoO hiatus, so watch out for that! See ya'll on the flipside.

You arrive at your job, barely sneaking in late without a penalty. You’ve just started to impatiently listen to your customers’ technical difficulties when your own phone chimes. 

Oh, that sound is unfamiliar. It’s from your phone’s instant-messaging app called Pesterchum, but you have different text tones set for different people, and you haven’t heard this one in a while. You know exactly who it is, though.

You pick up your phone and sigh heavily when you see the sender.

forlornAstronomer [FA] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG].

**FA: Hell9, Karkat. It’s 6een a while. I ap9l9gize, but I have a pressing questi9n that I must ask y9u.**

So it’s this douchebag. Kankri is indeed your brother, but that doesn’t mean you have to be overly fond of him. He’s 23 and failing college, despite--or maybe because of--your parents having practically paid his way in. Horrible attitude, ridiculously high IQ, terrible lack of self-esteem, all mixed with the biggest superiority complex you’ve ever seen. Not to mention his OCD, PDD, depression/anxiety 2x COMBO, and practically every psychological problem in the book. The result? A twisted combination of a kid genius, high school nerd, politician, and psychiatric patient. Who gives lectures on social justice. 

Yup, you two don’t talk much. 

**CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT, KANKRI? I’M A LITTLE BUSY, YOU KNOW, HAVING A JOB.  
FA: Again, I ap9l9gize pr9fusely f9r having distur6ed y9ur m9netary duties. I merely have a questi9n about a pers9n. Y9u were always kn9wledgeable ab6ut that s9rt 9f thing. **

Those stupid 6’s and 9’s. He types like that solely to annoy people, chiefly you--although his reasoning would probably be some stupid Tumblr thing. So you type in all caps as your own little annoying quirk. Sets his OCD off, but there’s nothing he can do about it except for to keep pestering you in the same way, and pretend to be sorry when he “disturbs your monetary duties”. The cycle of stupidity is complete. 

**CG: YOU, WANTING TO KNOW ABOUT PEOPLE? THAT’S A FIRST.  
** **FA: It’s a69ut...a girl.  
**

You actually laugh. Kankri, wanting to know about a girl? He’s never showed interest in dating of any sort for as long as you’ve known him. 

**CG: WELL, BUTTER MY ASS AND CALL ME A BISCUIT. KANKRI VANTAS, ACTUALLY TRYING TO GET *DATING ADVICE* FROM HIS LITTLE BROTHER?  
** FA: I w9uld appreciate it if y9u w9uld sh9w a little m9re c9mpassi9n, Karkat. N9t every69dy is as privileged as y9u, to have a n9rmal s9cial life.  
CG: ALL RIGHT, SPILL THE BEANS, YOU LOVESICK SHITSTAIN. WHO IS IT?  
FA: Wh9 she is n9ne of y9ur c9ncern. I merely wish to kn9w h9w to...ah…*flirt*. 

You’re holding a hand over your mouth to keep from getting in trouble from laughing. Holy shit. Kankri is actually asking you for flirting advice. This is the funniest thing since Meenah, some college chick who hits on you whenever she sees you in town, slipped something in his drink and got Kankri stoned as hell. You were actually there, at a party, a few years back. 

Anyway, the irony of the situation is that you haven't dated anyone for several years. Not since her. So Kankri asking you for flirting advice is actually a relatively bad idea.

**CG: WELL, YOU COULD TRY, YOU KNOW, SHOWING COMPASSION.**   
**FA: Very funny.  
 **CG: I’M SERIOUS, ASSHOLE! YOU CAN’T GET ANYONE TO LIKE YOU UNLESS YOU GIVE HALF A SHIT ABOUT THEM.  
 **FA: 6ut…  
 **CG: NO BUTS! IF YOU WANT TO LEARN HOW TO FLIRT, YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO BE NICE TO THE GODDAMN CHICK FIRST. I SUSPECT YOUR PROBLEM ISN’T FLIRTING, ANYWAY, BUT JUST LEARNING HOW TO TALK ABOUT SOMEONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF.  
 **FA: Hmmm. Fascinating.  
 **CG: WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME FOR ADVICE IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LISTEN? SHE’S A PERSON WITH FEELINGS YOU RAVING DOUCHE.  
 **FA: …  
 **CG: FINE. GO FUCK YOURSELF. GOOD LUCK GETTING A GIRLFRIEND WHEN YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE. WHY EVEN TRY? YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY A GODDAMN ROBOT.****************

************ ** **

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering forlornAstronomer [FA].

God. Talking to that guy just makes you angry. He’s so fucking out of it, and he doesn’t even try to fix his situation. Yet he had been the one who told you to get a troll to get over your own little lonely “crutch”. He does care, he just pretends not to, and no matter how obvious it gets that he’s faking it, he never breaks character. It drives you batshit crazy.

You lock your phone hastily as you see your boss walk by. Okay. Time to actually work. Your little girl depends on it. 

***

All day you spend, talking on the phone to bratty customers and timid people who don’t know how to use their phones. But throughout the day, you’re trapped in a miasma of anxiety, worrying about Nepeta and how she’s doing. Is she being teased? Does she know enough? What if she starts crying and gets kicked out?

These thoughts plague you all day, and keep you distracted. The day creeps by like an ill-paid waiter, but it does end, eventually. The minute your hours are up--you talked to your boss earlier and got permission to leave early--and you grab your stuff and zoom out the door, leaving confused workers in your wake. 

You’re horribly out of shape, so it takes you a while to get to the school. When you get there, it’s 2:58--two minutes before school is supposed to end. As you approach the house, you hear kids’ laughter from the large yard accompanying the school.

Ah, the sound of children’s laughter. It’s universally pleasant to listen to. You don’t know why there’s always so much screaming, though. It sounds like they’re being tortured. Wait, that could be bad. 

Nervousness boils in your stomach as you hear more screaming and shouting. You start to run to the door, and stop at the large yard accompanying the schoolhouse. It’s swarming with kids, most of which are clustered on the playground. Your heart slows its frantic pounding slightly as you see Nepeta in the corner, in the tiny forest at the edge of the yard. Nobody is staring at her, she isn’t being alienated, and...she isn’t alone. There’s a kid next to her, a little boy with a long purple cape. It’s Eridan, the only other troll in the entire school. 

Oh my god. Is he holding flowers out to Nepeta? That is the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. Aww, she’s accepting them, that’s so sweet! Grabbing the flowers in her pudgy little hand, throwing them on the ground as she happily reaches for the male troll…

Wait! 

The words barely escape your lips after Nepeta tackles Eridan and pins him to the ground, screeching. You’ve never seen such rage on her face--the only emotions you’ve ever seen present in those viridian eyes are joy and sadness. It’s terrifying to watch her bare her sharp teeth and plunge them into Eridan’s arm. 

Now the screaming is scared. Eridan’s terrified, frantically trying to push Nepeta off, and he rams his head into her torso--which would have impaled Nepeta had his horns not been dulled, probably by his rich owners. Even so, the impact shoves her back, sending her flying. A group of kids have circled around the pair, staring silently as the two aliens tussle. 

Uh-oh. Nepeta’s bleeding green, and looking angrier than ever. She crouches down on her haunches and you start to run, shouting senselessly. “STOP!”

Everybody turns to look at you, including Aranea, who has run out of the house, puffing like she had just finished a marathon. You shove open the painted wooden gate that some kid had left open, and dive for your troll girl as she makes a jump for Eridan, who had started to run but tripped on his cape. 

Making a grab for Nepeta, you slide inches away from her right after she jumps, sending woodchips flying. 

The troll lands on Eridan and you hear a small cracking sound as she twists his arm, accompanied by him crying out. Nepeta moves to scratch his face while he cradles his broken arm, purple tears streaming down his cheeks, but you pick her up roughly, prying her off the fallen Eridan. 

She’s squirming in your arms,, screaming incoherently: “KISMESIS! KISMESIS!” or some other gibberish. You’re too angry to try to understand. Aranea has run over to the troll boy as he sobs, staring at his broken arm with disbelief.

“What are you doing?!” you cry, angered by fear and worry that now she’s done it. “What did Eridan do to you?!”

“Kis-mesIS!” she wails, hitting your arms. “Hate! Go back!!”

You cast a pleading look at Aranea, who is now carefully holding Eridan’s non-broken hand, walking with him to the schoolhouse. There’s a mob of kids staring at you, holding a screaming troll. Aranea nods at you and calls, “Come inside.”

You feel their eyes bore into your back as you turn around and walk through the gate.

After you walk through the door, you slam yourself down on a chair and plunk Nepeta down in front of you. Her wailing has subsided a bit, and now she’s glaring into space with the foulest expression. She doesn’t look cute at all anymore, her cut face dripping with olive green and violet blood, her hands clenched into fists. Her once-beautiful dress is ripped, dirty, like a discarded doll. She looks like...a monster.

“Nepeta, what were you _thinking_?!” you yell. Your voice is loud in the quiet, primary-colored room. “You broke Eridan’s arm! He was trying to be nice to you, and you practically _killed him!_ ” 

“Kismesis,” she repeats, staring straight ahead. “My kismesis.”

Not this gibberish. “What’s a kismesis?!” 

“A kismesis, Karkat, is a different kind of love for trolls,” you hear a female voice call, and you’re relieved to see Aranea, minus Eridan. Wait...why is she smiling? This is a serious situation! You don’t want to even think about the trouble you’re going to be in.

“Nepeta beat him up!” you protest. “How the hell is that love?!” You’re so angry, and confused, and scared, nothing is making sense any more. 

Aranea frowns. “Watch your language.” 

You force yourself to take a deep breath and exhale, curling your hands in and out of fists. When you speak again, it’s in a voice scarcely masking immense irritation. “Sorry. WIll you please explain to me what just happened?”

“A kismesis is, like I said, a kind of love exclusive to trolls,” Aranea begins, walking over to you and sitting down at the table. “It’s like...oh, how do I put this in kid-friendly terms…” She leans over, next to your ear. You flinch as you feel her lips so close to you, and hear her whisper. “Hate sex.”

The blush that spreads on your face is uncontrollable. You’re rendered stutteringly silent for a good few seconds, finally stammering out a “Oh my god.”

Aranea laughs at your discomfort, and winks. “Oh no, it’s not like that for the little trolls, dear. They just know that they really, really don’t like the other troll in front of them. And trolls are a very violent species. It’s just another way of ensuring reproduction. See, troll love is divided into quadrants: red, pale, ashen, and black. Romantic love as we know it; moirailship, something akin to a platonic soulmate; auspitice, which is making sure that two trolls in a relationship of any kind are behaving in a healthy manner; and caliginous, which is what you just experienced.”

Aranea is doing the thing again where she says a lot of information very fast, making it hard to understand. You’re doing your best to calm down and take everything in. “I-interesting.”

The teacher seems to read your expression. “It’s a bit shocking, yes. But I can assure you that it’s a sign that Nepeta is healthy and normal!” Her forehead creases. “However, how she broke little Eridan’s arm is fairly troublesome. You see, trolls are indeed blessed with physical strength from a young age, but not so that they can outright, err, snap the bone in half. Eridan is fairly weak--I don’t think his owners realize the amount of exercise a young troll needs to be at peak health! But the real question is, why is our Nepeta so strong?” Her last remark is directed at the little troll, who is listening intently to Aranea speak, still not looking at you.

“Nepeta is very strong,” she repeats proudly. “Nepeta showed Eridan right.”

“Yes, but see, honey, you aren’t supposed to hurt a kismesis like that,” Aranea says soothingly.

“Eridan is very weak,” Nepeta insists. “Nepeta help him get tougher!”

“Breaking his arm isn’t the way to help him,” you say, determined to get your point across. 

Nepeta frowns. “He ripped my dress!” she complains, changing the subject and pulling at the wrecked collar. The once-beautiful outfit is now scuffed and torn, pieces of the outer and under layers missing or ruined. Kanaya will not be pleased.

“You started it,” you snap. You can’t believe you’re getting mad at Nepeta--or worse, that’s she’s actually giving you a reason to argue with her. She always seems to have done bad things by accident, and you can’t believe she’s trying to justify her actions. 

“You need to take her to the doctor, stat,” Aranea says, looking a bit grim. “I know just the gal! Let me get her phone number for you. She specializes in trolls.”

Five minutes later, you’re on the road again--on your own two feet, of course--and headed to the city. There’s another tiny pair of feet by your side, and her little hand is holding yours.

You two had made up. You always will.


	10. Checkup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _phew._ finally finished this chapter! i'm so sorry my hiatus lasted so long, folks. in case you haven't noticed, i'm awful at updating things like these on time. ;-; but anyway, enjoy this chapter!
> 
> in other news: Catalyst and Mother of One are now running side-by side. Well, Catalyst is a little bit behind Mother of One, but i've fixed them so the times should correspond.

As you pass through the city, you realize, with the sun lower in the sky, that people have Christmas lights up. Oh, right--it is around Christmas time, isn’t it? You’re not religious, for the simple reason that your dad tried to pound it into you when you were a kid. You’re being a rebel, like the rest of your lifestyle. A rebel against your stupid preachy dad and simpering mom. 

However, that doesn’t stop you from getting into the holiday spirit. Last year, you put a pine tree branch in your kitchen, and found an old charm to hang on it. See? Even Karkat can be festive! 

As you two walk, following the shoddy directions that Dr. Peixes (you think that’s what the bubbly voice introduced herself as over the phone) gave you, you feel more and more isolated. You don’t exactly have the money--or the friends/family, for that matter--to give out presents. Kanaya’s gift of clothing to Nepeta was probably intended to be her present to you this year, and now Nepeta’s ruined her brand-new dress…(Although you have to admit, it’s still cute on the troll. She’s ruined the petticoat, but the outer layer and dress as a whole could almost be described as “artistically destroyed.”)

You realize with a sick feeling that you definitely don’t have the money to afford real care for Nepeta. Dr. Peixes agreed to give her a check-up after you briefly explained the situation of Nepeta’s illegal arrival and her lack of medical records, but you already know without glancing at your bank account that it’s low, far too low. You could barely afford to scrape the monthly rent before you adopted a fucking toddler, and then you had to go and fork over a copious amount for her adoption in the first place. 

You really need to start thinking things through more.

“Kat…” Nepeta whines from your knee. “I’m tired.”

You look down and watch her yawn, limply raising her arms up. Sighing, you pull her up onto your shoulders, grunting. She grabs locks of your hair and you feel a weight on the crown of your head as she slumps over without another word.

She must be growing exhausted from a day of play and, err, breaking arms. You’re still a little peeved at your troll girl, but mostly relieved that Aranea hadn’t reported you two to the police. And besides, Nepeta apologized as soon as Eridan left the room, her grumpy demeanor melting off like ice cream in the sun. 

“You’re getting big, Nep,” you mutter. It’s only been, like, three days since you took her home, but you swear she’s gained a few pounds, looking a little less malnourished, her choppy black hair more lustrous. Maybe she’s taller, too? Sheesh. You’re suddenly as tired as she is.

You two don’t exchange many words for the rest of the walk, which leads you out of the suburbs and back into the city. Eventually, you end up at a smart white building with the words _Peixes Troll Clinic_ in a professional, modern typefont emblazoned on the side of the structure.

Wiping the clammy sweat off your forehead, you enter the building nervously.

Your first thought is of worry: there’s almost no one here. The reception lobby is clean and empty. The main colors are fuschia and gray, bordering the walls, the carpet. A bored-looking chick with dark skin and long, black braids is texting behind the counter, her feet on the table, but when she sees you, she scrambles to get into “professional mode.” However, by the time she’s sitting up straight, she’s eyeing you like a shark with her prey, her nose piercings and dark makeup more than a little intimidating.

“Ya look familiar,” she says slowly, popping her bubblegum loudly as you slowly approach. Squinting past her ugly pink-rimmed glasses, her eyes widen as she scans you. As you get to the desk, she suddenly breaks into a toothy grin.

“Whale, whale! Looks like I caught me another Vantas!” She winks and leans forward, her crop top and low, baggy pants showing a little more of her than you’d prefer to see. “You’re Kankri’s bro, am I right?”

Ewwwww. Not Kankri. “Uhh...yeah, but I don’t associate with...him.” Your coarse language corrects itself almost too late as you feel Nepeta lift her head up from your hair, yawning. 

The girls laughs, abrupt and a little too loud for your foggy senses. “Hehe. Don’t blame you for that one, kid.” She pauses and blows a small bubble, smacking her lips. “He’s hooked up with the Leijon girl now, didja know?”

Kankri, hooking up with someone? That’s a first. “Funny joke.”

The girl cackles again, throwing back her head, her braids swinging. “I couldn’t believe it either, kiddo,” she says sardonically. “But I read it on Facebook, so it must be true!” She elbows in the direction of you and hisses, “I got them together on Pesterchum in the first place.” Something in her cynical tone somehow suggests pride, although you’re not quite sure why. 

“Anyways, I’m Meenah,” she continues, sticking out her arm. It’s decked out with tacky gold bracelets and fuschia gems set in more gold rings. You hesitantly shake her hand with its sharp pink fingernails. “I go to college in Washington with Kankri, but I’m helpin’ out my sis for the holidays. She doesn’t get as much of a holiday break as I do.” The amount she’s raising her eyebrows is bothering you. 

“That’s...cool,” you say hesitantly. “Anyway, Aranea Serket sent me here about my troll--”

For the first time, Meenah’s eyes flit up to Nepeta, and you see a faint blush tinge her cheeks. “Aranea?” she repeats, quirking the word upward into a question. “Serket and I go way back.” She grins quickly, as if she’s hiding some secret in her slightly pinker cheeks. “Oh, so you wanted to see Fef, huh?”

“W-who?”

“My lil’ sis, Feferi. Dr. Peixes to you,” she replies. “She was expecting you. I’ll ring her up.” She heaves her short body out of her chair--sheesh, she’s almost as short as you--waltzes into the hallway, and yells, “YO FEF! The kid’s here with his troll!”

Almost immediately, a chubby, similarly dark-skinned woman appears out of a door and puffs down the hallway. She has the same long black hair as Meenah, although it’s not in braids but loose, flowing down her back. When she sees you, she smiles broadly.

“Oh, hello! You must be Karkat,” she announces, shaking your hand. “I’m Feferi. Is this Nepeta? Hiya, sweetie!”

“Hi,” Nepeta replies sleepily. You lift her off your shoulders with a grunt, where she totters over to Feferi curiously. The woman leans down and pinches Nepeta’s cheek gently. “Hey, cutie! Are you sleepy?”

“Yeah,” the troll girl says, yawning. Feferi chuckles. “I bet find your kismesis was quite the adventure, huh?” 

Nepeta’s tired, but at the mention of the word _kismesis_ , she bristles. “Eridan!”

Feferi giggles again. “Oh, _that_ troll! I’ve done all his checkups since he was born. Pure-bred, you know. I’m in touch with his owners--we have dinner sometimes.” She winks, much like her sister, and puts up her index finger. “But let’s not get distracted. This is serious business. Follow me into the checkup room, ‘kay?” She starts to walk to one of the doors in the empty hallway, surprisingly fast for her pair of 3-inch fuchsia heels, and it’s all you can do to keep up.

When you reach the room, it’s sterile white with cute, childish art on the walls. Books and magazines for toddlers are in a haphazard basket on the floor, and a checkup table with that weird translucent paper coating it. 

“Okay, Nepeta honey!” Feferi says perkily. “Sit down on this table, please?”

You lift Nepeta up and set her on the table. Feferi promptly produces a stethoscope and proceeds to do doctor-y stuff: Taking pulses, measuring heart rate, looking into Nepeta’s fawn-like ears, ect. You’re pretending not to be uncomfortable when the doctor gently lifts up the toddler’s shirt to put the cold piece of metal against Nepeta’s chest, and when Nepeta lets out a keening wail (“It’s COLD!”), prompting you to take her hand.

Finally, Feferi looks at you. Her bright smile has dulled slightly.

“Well, she’s in fine fettle, Karkat,” she tells you. “That’s the good news. But we’re going to need to take some blood samples to tell more, because…” She hesitates. “Well, from what you’ve told me, Nepeta appears to be…abnormally strong. Aranea probably told you about troll strength, right?”

“She said that Nepeta shouldn’t have been able to break Eridan’s arm, even though Eridan’s weak,” you reply, feeling a knot of worry starting to tangle in your stomach. Nepeta is kicking her feet against the side of the table energetically, reading a book about farm animals. You turn back to Dr. Peixes, hoping your troll girl isn’t listening.

Fefei nods. “Well, this isn’t normally a bad thing. But…” She stops and shakes her head. “It might be nothing! I’ll have to get a blood sample and x-ray to be sure.”

“Uh,” you interject nervously, “I don’t know if I’ll, umm, be able to afford that. I wasn’t provided with any medical information about Nepeta when I adopted her--”

Feferi nods. “That’s okay! Because of the, uh, _unfortunate circumstances_ surrounding her adoption, I can give you basic medical care for free. But I’m sorry to tell you that insurance companies don’t cover troll care. So if she gets hurt…” She winces. “There’s nothing I can do.” 

She sees your face and adds, “I really am sorry, Karkat. But it’s not entirely my decision. If I could give every needy troll care, I would! But I’m surrounded by a ton of legal parameters, social standards and god knows what else.”

You understand. If Feferi extends too much of an arm, she’ll lose her place in society. You try not to bear too much ill will towards her--it’s a miracle you’re getting even basic medical care for Nepeta anyway. _Be grateful._

All the same, you feel yourself grow slightly colder as you say, “It’s fine. I appreciate your help.”

Dr. Peixes looks a little hurt, her plump magenta lips puckering into a slight pout, but she doesn’t say anything other than “All right Nepeta, let’s go get an x-ray! It’s so cool, you’ll love it!”

You three walk down the hall, the click of Feferi’s heels seeming a little more brisk in the echoing, medical silence of the building. When you get to another door, Feferi indicates for you to stand to the side while Nepeta lays down on another clinical table. As you lift her up to the table again, she asks nervously, “What’s that big white thing?”

“That’s an x-ray, honey!” Dr. Peixes replies cheerily. “It’s gonna take a really cool picture of your bones and brain so we can make sure you’re happy and healthy, okay?”

Nepeta’s eyebrows knit together. “Are you gonna cut me open?!”

Feferi throws back her head and laughs--much like her sister, except the doctor’s laugh is far more saccharine, with only the tiniest hint of the mockery that had been present in Meenah’s. It’s enough to take you slightly aback, though. “Oh, honey. It’s just a ray of light that can see your bones! I promise, you’ll stay 100% whole.”

This answer seems to calm Nepeta’s nerves, but she still asks, “Kat, will you hold my hand?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” you tell her, taking the small gray hand in your own. Feferi goes to the side and presses a few buttons, and the white, round camera desends towards the troll, making her whimper. 

“Nepeta, please stay still,” Feferi orders. “If you move, we’ll have to make it happen again.”

“You can do it,” you whispers, stroking her palm with your fingers. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s not even going to touch you.”

Sure enough, the machine only flashes a ray of light down at the trembling Nepeta before ascending back into its resting place. There’s a whine, and a picture starts to print out of another machine in the corner. Dr. Piexes rushes over to it and impatiently taps her foot as the image slowly eases itself out of the printer. Finally, she grabs it the moment it’s done and consults it. You notice her clench her fist subtly, but when she turns back to you, she’s as pleasant as ever.

“Well, _that’s_ all right,” she says cheerily. “Nepeta’s skeletal structure is a little stunted, but that’s too be expected, given the conditions under which she was born. It won’t affect her growth too much. She’ll be a little short, is all.” She hands you the picture. The skeleton at first glance, looks like that of a toddler, but as you look closer, you notice the thick chin and forehead, broad shoulders and horns protruding from her cranium. On the other picture, there’s a primary-colored picture of what looks more or less like a human brain. You can’t make head or tails of the giant red areas. 

Feferi notices your slight confusion and smiles. “Yes, they’re pretty different from humans, aren’t they? They grow from eggs into grubs, if you can believe that.” She clucks and shakes her head. “The skeletal transformation is quite extraordinary--they go from six-legged to bipedal in just the span of a few years! It’s fascinating, really. Anyway, I understand you’ve been classifying Nepeta as, oh, three years old or so, right?”

“Yeah,” you respond, wondering when you told her that, and wishing that people would stop dumping information on you like a tidal wave. 

“Well,” Feferi continues, “the truth is, Nepeta is about 2.31 solar sweeps old. That means she’s about five in human years.”

The news hits you like a slap to the face. “W-What?”

The doctor nods, looking grim. “This is what I suspected. Physically, she’s in top condition--almost too good, actually, but we’ll talk about that in a minute. Mentally--” She sighs and looks over at Nepeta, who’s jumping off the table to the floor, giggling, and trying it again. She turns back to you, her expression pitying, and the knot in your stomach tightens. 

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” she says softly, “but Nepeta’s brain is significantly stunted in significant areas, like the prefrontal cortex. There isn’t a real classification for trolls in this field, but in humans, it’d be called autism.”


End file.
